Carried by the Wind
by Nurayy
Summary: [Story rewritten] Third Age, Harad. The best of friends travel through the wonders of the desert, through peril and adventure. A tale of unexpected encounters, friendship and more. Events taking place before and during the time of the Quest. (also featuring Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Gimli and Éowyn later on)
1. The Desert - Storm

**I am completely rewriting this story, making lot of changes, though the main plot remains the same. I thank all who have followed, liked, reviewed on the first version. You have encouraged me and I have tried to work with the advice.**

 **Thank you Aminmela for being so kind to beta-read encourage me on that first journey.**

 **My very special thanks go to Ruiniel for helping me in the rewriting of this story. I could not do this without you! And I could not wish for a better beta-reader.  
**

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 **This story has grown out of the wish of exploring the Southern Lands - Harad - and its people, who often get this touch of evil and darkness. Because I so love Tolkien's universe, I wanted to discover their beauty. I wish to draw some light into the unknown Lands of the South.**

 **And I wished to give Legolas a Lady, since Aragorn got his. I attempted to write a character who would have somehow an impact, and yet, who has to be fleeting, just brushing past, without changing nor capturing the free spirit and independence of the elf, nor the course of the original story. It is thought to be filling in between, like an events untold. A small tale spread between the events of Middle-earth, around and during the time of the quest.**

 **A scene with mature content was not planned but just happened spontaneously :) There are flashbacks and references of sexual abuse, nothing graphic.**

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 **When Aragorn and Legolas speak together alone, or elves speak together, they speak elvish. Even if I write in English, because of everybody's understanding, and because I have very, very poor knowledge of elvish :)**

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 **Everything of Tolkien's fantasy world belongs to him and so do his characters. I own nothing apart from the OC's, my interpretation of the Lands of the South and the events I have invented.**

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 **The first five chapters 'The Desert' are pre-LotR, and for all who know _Cassia & Siobhan's Mellon Chronicles_, settled some few years after the _MC's The Stars Of Harad_. Thanx to Sio for answering my Mail and allowing me to make reference. The sexual abuse referred herein happened in the _MC 'Captive of Darkness'_. For whom does not know that series: It doesn't matter for the story, although I can recommend to read them ;)**

* * *

 **The Desert - Storm**

For years Aragorn had not seen the family who so warmly accepted him when he had been captured and sold as a slave in Harad. And so, he felt the urge to visit them. They were now a free people and he needed to see how they fared and if, hopefully, they were safe and keeping their hard won freedom. Legolas had not hesitated to accompany him once more. It had been a joyful reunion.

They spent a wonderful time with the tribe; participating in their everyday life, helping the shepherds on the fields with the mûmakils and spending the evenings in talks and music, with the rhythmical, uplifting songs of those people who had once been slaves.

Life for them had gone on quietly since the overtaking of control through evil was focused on other regions. Aragorn and Legolas had sent prayers of thanks to the Valar, for keeping their family safe through these times, and a prayer of pleading, that it might stay that way for times to come.

Parting had been difficult and emotional, as it is when one bids farewell to loved ones without knowing when, and if, you would ever see them again.

Soon they were on their way on horseback. They had taken the path of the grasslands through which they had traveled before. The many signs left behind by recent Orc encampments and a sudden warg attack - that they fortunately managed to fight off, but had caused their horses to shy and take flight - made them change their route.

That is how they came to be journeying at the border of the desert on foot. Heading North, towards home, following a dry streambed on its lowest point; a dead, sandy valley...

* * *

The elf missed his home desperately. He did not understand this strange land they were crossing. Only moments past the air had been searing hot and deadly dry. And Anor seemed to burn the naked earth angrily from the sky. Then, that same sky had turned dark as night, and the temperature suddenly dropped.

The wind lashed the sand in billows against anything in its way. It whipped into their faces which they tried to protect with their cloaks. It entered into their noses, their mouths. It pierced through the fabric of their clothes and it felt like thousands of needles pricking their skin.

This place felt unspeakably alien to him, unfriendly, ominous, a mass of extremes. First raindrops fell, not even wetting the sand, but evaporating from its heat. The thick drops increased, soon hitting the ground with small splashes.

The cliffs far behind grew threatening and black against the dark grey sky. Sudden lightning reached down like slashing fires into the earth with deafening explosions, illuminating the fictitious night with dazzling light.

"Aragorn, we have to get out of here!" Legolas shouted with emergency against the noise of the increasing storm.

He knew not if Aragorn had heard, since even his elven ears could barely hear his own voice. He did not really know what would come but he ran for his life, and so did Aragorn, towards the boulders and rocks at the borders preceding the vast, rocky face behind.

Then it seemed as if the sky had opened to empty itself; the rain poured down in streams. Legolas could not even see an armlength ahead of him. The sand had turned into mud, and rivulets of brown water ran over the sloppy ground. They were completely encased by a curtain of rain, dripping wet within a breath. The water raged, and the lightning in the sky left the earth grumbling under their feet.

They climbed over stones, toward large boulders and rocks, where they could make for higher ground. Legolas cast glances back to assure that Aragorn was right on his heels. He knew the task for the man was more tedious than it was for him. He saw Aragorn climbing and stumbling non so nimbly but - to his relief - keeping pace.

But then the ranger's foot slipped on a mud covered stone. He reached out with his hands to get a hold on the rocky surface, but found no purchase. His head hit the rock hard. His senses robbed from him, he lay motionless.

Through the pouring rain the elf scrambled to his friend. He froze in horror as he saw blood run over the man's face. His breath caught in his throat. His fingers fearfully searched the soft spot at the side of Aragorn's neck, and to his relief found a life beat.

He brought his face close to his friend's, softly speaking into his ear, failing to hide his own fear. "Aragorn, are you with me?"

Aragorn blinked miserably, grey eyes glazed in agony. His leg was trapped. Legolas tried hard to shift the stones that pinned it, but they were frustratingly unmovable.

"Clumsy human," he gently reproached, ruffling his friend's hair reassuringly, "I cannot move these rocks with my bare hands. I need to find something for leverage. I have to leave you in search of anything that may be of help. Please, my friend, you must hold on, stay with me."

Aragorn nodded reluctantly, fearfully glancing to the risen waters. It was hard for Legolas to leave him there like this. The rain was pouring cold and merciless.

The elf reached out his senses, determinedly searching. He climbed towards aught his eyes could hardly see. But he felt it was there, it was calling to him. And finally he reached her. It was a small, meager tree, growing sturdily between the rocks, against all odds in this land of extremes. **  
**

He touched her gently, he talked to her and he felt that she knew. She allowed him to do what he had to do. He spoke to her his apology and gratefulness, and then he was off, hurrying down towards Aragorn. **  
**

Through the pouring rain he heard a desperate voice calling his name. His heart tore and he sped up his pace even more.

As the elf reached, the gravity of the situation quickly sunk into him. He had to hurry or Aragorn would drown in the streaming water that already reached his chest. He placed the branch between the stones attempting to loosen them. Aragorn tried, with all the strength he had left, to pull his leg free.

As if all was not yet enough the rain turned into hail, beating down on them violently; icy bullets shot from the sky. Aragorn flung his arms over his head for protection.

Legolas plunged into the torrential water that was now at the level of Aragorn's shoulders, to get down to the pinning cliffs. The thought to take his soaked cloak off, to throw it over his friend's head as a shield from the fury of the storm flared up in his mind. But his mind cried, _'There is no time!'_

His hands tightly clutched the wood. He was fully aware that if the water ripped it away, he would see Estel die.

The elf fought against the streaming water, pushing and pulling against all reason, because defeat was no option to him, no matter how futile it all seemed to be. The panic and the horror, the fear of losing his friend, gave him strength he did not know he possessed.

And then, when all struggles seemed in vain, the stones shifted considerably under his pressure. He resurfaced, out of breath, panting, lungs burning, and he brought forth a strained shout: "Aragorn, pull!"

But Aragorn had no more strength to free himself. He was coughing, swallowing water that had reached the last level before drowning him.

Legolas scrambled out of the stream and pulled Aragorn after onto firm, stony ground, falling backwards against the rocks. He felt numb, his arms slung around Aragorn's chest, he held him tightly to himself.

He felt the man trembling in his grip, and as he slowly eased his hold on him Aragorn rolled over and tried to rise, but was unable to do so on his own.

Gently Legolas lifted Aragorn's arm over his shoulders, holding it by the wrist. He braced his other arm around the man's waist and pulled him upward. Legolas partly stumbled and partly climbed over the rocks, while carrying rather than sustaining Aragorn.

With his friend's body shuddering, trembling and crumbling under its own weight, he gathered all of his elven strength once more, to compensate for the human's weakness. At times he slipped on the slick, jagged rock and hit his knees or his wrist, as he kept himself, and most importantly Aragorn, upright. The pain that slashed through his joints and tore his skin, he ignored. **  
**

They found shelter at the entrance of a cave in the rocky massive bordering the streambed, where Legolas eased Aragorn gently to the ground. The man did not move nor stir. His pulse was far too slow, his skin ice-cold. His lips had taken on a bluish tinge.

 _'I have to warm him,'_ Legolas realized in alarm.

Everything they carried was dripping wet. There was no way to make a fire either. The only source of warmth he could think of, was his own body. Though exhausted and drained from the ordeal, he was still warm. Urgently he peeled Aragorn out of his soaked clothes and freed himself from his own wet garments clutching to his skin. He lay down close to his friend, the wet cover wrapped around both of them; slender arms closing the cold, shivering body against warm skin. At first he had tried to keep him awake, but all his effort was in vain. The man had slipped into unconsciousness.

He held his friend all through the night, keeping watch over the state of his vitals, listening intently to the slow, ragged breathing and the too sluggish pounding of his heart. **  
**

Slowly Aragorn's body warmed, and his breathing and pulse regained their normalcy. Out of exhaustion and listening to the now stronger, steady beat, Legolas drifted into sleep.

He awoke in confusion, feeling wet but hot. With dread he realized that Aragorn had gone from undercooled to feverish. They were both wet with perspiration.

He looked with concern at the beloved face close to his own. His friend's eyes were closed, his cheeks flushed with heat. He shifted uncomfortably in his restless dreams, moaning softly. His fast, ragged breaths sounded painfully whistling.

The ordeal of the previous day had been too much for a human, even for one with Aragorn's strength. Illness had claimed him, had infected his lungs. Legolas saw the pain in his face with every breath he struggled to take. The fever was high, too high, his skin clammy.

This was much, too much for Legolas. If it was injury he could cope. He had ever had to deal with it on the field. But human sickness scared him. He felt alone, he was alone to deal once more with his friend's mortality. Dear Eru what was he to do?!

How should one lower a fever in the heat of the desert day?!

 _'The stream of last night!'_ the thought pierced his mind.

He hurried to the edge of the cave, and peered down into the ravine. The stream was gone, though, standing water was resting in the deeper sections, forming wide, clear pools.

Fast and furious the water had broken into the dryness of the desert. Unmercifully, with ferocity, it had threatened to swallow them. Precious and quiet it was lying now, glittering like crystal in the warming sun. Water to drink, water to heal, water to wash the heat of a fever away, water to stir athelas on a fire, for a weary body strained with illness to revive. And he found hope.

Outside the cave Anor was burning in all its brightness from the sky. The searing heat drying perspiration before it could even show on the skin.

Aragorn's usually strong body was weak, ill with fever and burning lungs. Legolas mind was sick with worry, trying to cope with the unfamiliar conditions of this strange land. He enveloped him into their shirts, light fabric, to avoid dehydration. Patiently he moistened his lips and trickled water into his mouth.

What else could he do?!

He never rested. He fetched water again, climbed rocks in the simmering heat, he made fire, changed Aragorn's bandages, stirred athelas, checked his friend's pulse repeatedly, felt his brow for the temperature. He spoke soothing, comforting words to him, and he feared.. he feared the worst.

There was only one thought in his mind; _'He must get well, he must heal.'_ And the next thought was, that maybe he was still not doing enough...

The world around him started spinning and gradually disappeared, covered by large, black spots dancing across his vision.

...and then he collapsed.

Only then he realized, that he had not drunk anything since the day before, with the extreme physical effort he had taken upon himself.

Only then he realized, that his knees and hands were bleeding from climbing the rocks repeatedly.

Only then he realized, that he was exhausted and drained.

Aragorn would have long time forced him to rest, if he had been in any shape to do so.

Legolas lay sprawled on the ground, because he simply could not rise anymore.

He crawled over to the water skin, and drank in long gulps. The water felt pure and refreshing in his burning throat. Slowly he rose, and began to clean and bind his own wounds. He had to take better care of himself, if he wanted to be of any help to Aragorn.

This place wanted to show him the limits of his elven strength...

* * *

 _(Aragorn)_

My head throbs, I can feel it is bound, and my stomach feels nauseous.

I blink into crisp light, trying to clear my dazzled mind.

I push myself up on my elbows, but strength fails me.

And then I feel a hand to my chest, gently holding me down, and hear a soft voice speaking, "Hush, take it easy my friend. You have suffered a major concussion and just survived a serious lung infection. You were very ill, Estel. I've feared to lose you."

It is Legolas' voice. And as I fully open my eyes I see his fine, shining face over me.

"Legolas? Where are we? What happened?" I ask, and I flinch at my croaking voice.

There is stone all around and bright beams of light strike through an opening.

Are we in a cave? - Valar! We are in a cave! I cannot believe it is true!

"If you find shelter in a cave, it must be dire, no other options left..." I murmur, smiling faintly. - As much as I try, I cannot remember how we came to be here.

"We are only to the entrance of the cave," Legolas corrects pointedly, "And yes, there was no other option."

Legolas patiently recounts all that has happened, and slowly patches of memory return to me.

I sigh in consternation. "Here we are again, my friend! How on Arda do we always manage to get into such situations!?"

Legolas shrugs and then beams a bright smile at me, "I just thank the Valar that it is over now and you are recovering. That is all that matters."

I am tired, but I cannot leave it; I know how situations with us can get from bad to worse, and so I tease him, "We are still far from home, my friend. Thank the Valar, but dare not pretend it is over..."

Legolas takes a deep breath and releases it with a long sigh. "Yes, mellon-nìn. How could I forget! Walking with you that far south, and thinking we would make it out without any more trouble, is quite improbable, if not impossible!"

His laughter rings clear and uplifting as the weight of the last days wears off him. I feel a pang of guilt at the worry and strain I have caused him.

But nonetheless I counter, "I fear you are confusing something. How many times did I get you out of trouble?"

Legolas ignores the challenge. Instead he is already up, helping me to get further into the cave, away from where the rays of the desert's burning sun would soon fall.

"Wait here, my friend. I am going to fill the water skins." Legolas announces, already in motion.

"And where should I go in my present state, gwador-nìn!" I point out affectionately.

"Oh, with you... One never knows what you are capable of. Further trouble might be waiting behind the next rock already," Legolas parries, laughing out merrily.

He will not tell me, but I know that he has gone through tearing worry because of me. I can see the relief clearly written on his soft features.

He stands now in the entrance of the cave, tall and golden, lit by the streaming rays of Anor, peering down into the ravine. And he speaks fair words as if he sings a song. I cannot but wonder at how he always finds happiness in the simplest of things, even after the light has almost deserted him.

"The desert... since we entered it, it has not ceased surprising me; the burning heat of the day, the freezing chill of the night, all-claiming dryness shimmering in the air, and the next moment water in streams drowning the sand. See now! In the seemingly waste lifelessness, life blossoms against all expectation. What beauty to my eyes!" **  
**

He is truly a star. He is a ray of light when it is dark... What would I do without him... and then I think wryly, that I probably would be dead by now.

"By all the beauty that your elven eyes do see, you cannot deny, that it is a bloody trap indeed," I say wearily.

"Oh that it is," he smiles unperturbed, "but still... I am in awe!"

And then he swings over the ridge and is gone.

As I am alone I cannot resist to slowly crawl forward to peer down into the ravine with my own eyes. What I see leaves me open-mouthed to say the least.

Ponds of crystal-clear water are pooling in the previously dry streambed beyond. All around, green plants grow and coloured flowers are crowning them. Bushes between the rocks, that previously had seemed dry and dead, are now green with tender, slender leaves.

I watch the spectacle, unable to divert my gaze.

After a while I realize how heavy the sun beats on my still aching head. I push myself back into the shade of the cave. The effort provokes me a coughing attack, which is pure agony when the smallest of movements hurt.

* * *

Legolas returns with filled water skins. And I know as soon as I see him that everything is not right. His face looks ghastly pale and haunted. He does not speak. His eyes avoid to meet mine. He sits, his back against the rocky wall at the opposite side of the cave, staring into the void. His breathing comes shallow and fast, his body is tense. I frown. I'm appalled.

"Legolas? What is it?"

Legolas stares at me at the question, his eyes hard and wide. - What has happened?! I do not understand.

"Orcs!" He suddenly hisses, "I've seen orcs and men. Evil is camping in this place! They have prisoners. Children laid in chains! Human children of about seventeen summers to my guessing. And what they do to them... - I've heard it, Aragorn! I've seen it. It is horrible! I must stop them!"

Gone is the lithe, shining creature. Gone is his fair, joyful song.

His words are sharp, his voice is hard. And I dread what is triggered.

I am overwhelmed. I know not what to say. I can only imagine how close this hits him, what long buried emotions resurface.

He had healed, he had buried it all, I have been help and witness. - Yet buried is not forgotten.

His voice is flat, deprived of any tone, "I cannot allow... just cannot allow that to continue!"

His words burn into me and I feel such pain at the extinguished litheness and music he just emanated.

"We will stop them, gwador-nìn. We will stop them, I promise!"

"You are injured, you cannot fight," Legolas protests, "You need rest. - They are many!"

"I am better already," I assure him - anything to calm him - "And if they are many, do not even think once, that I will let you go alone!"

My gaze is serious, "Legolas, just keep an eye on them. Make sure that they leave not without our knowledge. Give me some time to recover. By the Valar, just promise me you will not pull any stunts on your own!"

I clasp his forearm and I see the anger burning in his grey-blue eyes, both extremes together, fire and ice.

He reacts not, his eyes keep burning. "Legolas, promise me!" I insist.

And then he sighs, perhaps calmed by my touch and my determined presence. "I promise," he whispers, allowing his tense muscles to relax.

Since that incident Legolas uses the cover of the night to fetch water. From time to time he climbs close to the bigger cave (where the men and the orcs are camping), to survey.

Every time he comes back to me he is in obvious distress. He seems to never even relax anymore, every muscle of his body is tense. He finds no rest.

He cares for me, changes my bandages, gives me water to drink. And I can do not a thing to help him, because I am still weak, and it unnerves me. He changes his own bandages; just to keep himself busy (because in fact his wounds are already healed). That done, he sits against the stony wall, rocking imperceptibly back and forth, staring into nothing at all.

I observe him quietly. I ask him to share with me whatever terrible knowledge he had to witness. Obviously it is a great effort for him to speak, but in the end it all tumbles out of him.

"The men are northerners, they are speaking Westron. I heard how they insulted the children as dirty Haradrim, who deserve this treatment. They are beating them... I heard how they hit them... I heard the distressed whimpering and the suppressed screams, not to awaken any more reason for further beating. They... are touching them... they tease them anytime they feel like it - men and orcs alike. It seems they have order not to leave visible injuries, since the Lord they are headed to wants them untouched... for his own USE."

Legolas spits the word with disgust. He sets his jaw and he hisses, "I will kill them all! Cursed sprawl of Mordor!"

My stomach clenches as I imagine the horror going on so very near.

I witness Legolas' reaction to a nightmare he is in a way reliving. It is surely unbearable to have to leave those children to their fate. But we are significantly outnumbered. It would be folly to rush into attack. We need to act with caution, await the right time. Besides, at the moment, I am in no shape for an open fight.


	2. The Desert - Riders in the Distance

**The Desert – Riders in the Distance**

 _(Aragorn)_

"They are breaking camp!" Legolas says, and I can sense his disquiet. I have been waiting for him to return from his observation point, but I am ill prepared for this turn of events. Hastily he begins to gather our belongings as I stare at him bewildered. He flings them all messily into our packs. I grab his arm before he can whirl past me _._ His grey-blue eyes are akin to a storm at sea. I hear his fast and heavy breathing (he never breathes heavily, not even from physical exertion in the midst of battle), and I am startled by the flash of savage viciousness I see when he stares back at me. I take a firm hold of his lean wrist, feeling the rush of his pulse.

"Legolas, peace, please calm yourself my friend. We cannot proceed in this manner." I drag him to the opening and take both his hands in my own. They are shaking. I brace my arm around his shoulders and hold him tightly, close to me. His breath hitches.

We stand looking down into the ravine and he yields to my stilling hold. "Legolas, breathe with me," I bid him worriedly. And I am glad to see him attempting to breathe with me, deeply and slowly.

The setting sun plunges the desert sky into a sort of peaceful, quiet beauty. The crystal water has disappeared from the valley below. Yet the plants are green and blossoming, gifted with the ability to use the slightest drop hidden in the ground and transform it into life energy; storing it for days, drawing nourishment from it.

We breathe together, and he seems to be soothed by the sight of the green essence of life.

* * *

We follow the large group of men, orcs and prisoners at a distance, hiding behind the various rocks and boulders in the jagged and rocky terrain. I watch Legolas as he revels in the beauty and wonder created by The One. His long, slender fingers brush the sappy green leaves as we pass by bushes and small trees. He touches them fleetingly, almost casually. I notice how they soothe the turmoil in his soul; he quietens. They conjure a soft smile on his fine face. These plants are a rare source of life before we leave this valley and head for the open desert, making them all the more precious. I want to give him some time to appreciate them.

I have nearly regained my usual strength. Still, we dare not risk an attack. The party is well guarded, as if in expectation of an ambush.

The vastness of the sandy landscape forces us to leave more space between us and the group we are following. We must avoid discovery. There is nothing to hide behind, only dunes that draw themselves as large, motionless waves in a sea of sand.

The column we pursue is proceeding rather slowly. They are dragging their prisoners, chained together in one line by their wrists and ankles. The poor children are more stumbling than walking, and when they fall, their captors beat them. Legolas flinches beside me, as if he is taking the blows himself. In spite of their agony, those young ones still hold themselves surprisingly straight and with their heads upright, enduring and proud.

We walk all night, without rest under the chilly desert sky. I imagine the measure of suffering of the young ones brought on by fatigue, pain and harsh temperatures. And I feel Legolas silently suffering by my side.

The stars are twinkling, as if trying to speak hope into all hurting hearts, and the moon is looking down in silent and serene compassion.

Slowly the lights of the night fade into the increasingly brightening sky, announcing the rising of Anor. We reach the ridge of the dune that separates us from the party we are following, when the first rays cast by the rising sun gently brush over it.

What appears before our eyes at some distance in the landscape below casts a shadow of dread upon my heart. Legolas' gaze is impenetrable. He is perfectly quiet, as he watches the large stronghold partly built of rough stony walls, and partly caved into a huge massive of rocks protruding from sandy ground, dark-grey and menacing.

I have known Legolas for so long, and yet I fail to understand these sudden changes in behaviour. What is it that makes him freeze, when before he was a bundle of tension breaking free?

"This place is evil." He states, his voice deep and grave.

Behind the uppermost crest of the dune we lie flat on the sand. We see the party enter the grim stronghold through a tall gate. My heart sinks as I watch the children disappear into the vile place.

The cover of the night has given away to the increasing brightness of day. The sand glitters almost merrily in the crisp morning light. We urgently need to find shelter against unwanted eyes and the increasingly burning sun.

I search the dry landscape with an urgent gaze, and my eyes are drawn by a vision appearing in the distance. A group of blue riders in one line approaches at a rapid pace.

I exchange an alarmed glance with Legolas, and I know that he has seen the same. There is nothing to shield our presence on top of the dune. We are completely exposed. Any cover would be appreciated at the moment.

"Legolas, the chain of rocks down there! Run!" I shout, "We cannot afford to get captured."

But Legolas does not react to my warning. He stares at the blue-veiled riders wide-eyed.

The threat is fast approaching. - What is he doing?!

I yank him with me as I rush forward. He stumbles slightly and then, as if pulled out of a spell, he follows, easily running for the saving rocks.

We find a shallow recess in the cliff, which offers much needed protection. I catch my breath, composing myself after the sprint. I cannot understand Legolas and his behaviour presently. I shout at him, "What is the matter with you, Legolas?! Are you mad?! Do you want us to get captured?"

Legolas is calm, his eyes still wide and lost in the distance. "Aragorn, did you not feel it? - An imposing appearance they are. Beauty and elegance in the strangest of ways _._ I could hardly tear my eyes away." He does not see sense, caught as he is in his fascination.

I huff and shake my head. I am beside myself with indignation. "You _are_ mad! Imposing they looked indeed!... and dangerous!"

He does not answer. He turns away from me, almost irkily, scanning the land around us. I take a deep breath to calm myself and run a hand through my tangled hair. I cannot reach him at the moment, he is ignoring me. It is unnerving when he behaves like this.

From where we are, the entrance of the stronghold, down on the lower level, appears in full view, while we get the cover we need from a huge rock formation barring the recess.

Legolas suddenly becomes distressed. He peeks around a rock, and in that instant I know that if I do not hold him back he will be off, following whatever intriguing thought just crossed his breezy mind. I am not sure whether this will be good. So I take hold of his arm and pull him back slightly. He abruptly turns his face towards me, frowning, and shrugs my hand off.

"I will go watch for a sign of the riders." He says firmly.

I am not surprised. In fact it is what I guessed and would want to prevent.

"Allow _me_ to go!" I offer with pleading eyes, but without any hope of understanding.

"No!" he instantly prompts, as expected. "I will go. I can sense they are close. I will find them."

I let out a sigh of defeat and rub my brow wearily. "Legolas please, be careful!" I give up and say nothing again. I do not want to offend him.

He laughs as clear as a bell. He laughs at me! I remark he is not angry, and somehow I am bewildered. "Why do you not trust me? You know that I am always careful," he answers brightly, as he climbs around the rock and disappears without awaiting a reply.

I feel even more unease now that he is gone. He was behaving so strangely before. I know of his sudden changes of spirit, I know him well enough. But all that has happened lets me suspect that he is not acting like himself. He is much more unpredictable than usual, even for him.

But perhaps I am the one that is not himself. I rub my head, because it has started throbbing. I have not drunk more than a few sips since we left the valley, and thirst begins to take its toll on me. I take another small sip from my water skin. I have to ration it. We do not know how long it will be until we can fill our supplies again. Legolas has even refused to drink a single drop. He says he does not need it yet, and I might soon need it much more than he. I know he is right. But still I am uncomfortable with it. He says I worry too much for him.

Before I can worry further, Legolas returns, landing before me with a graceful leap from the cliff.

"Legolas, what have you seen? Where are the riders?" I ask him straight away.

He does not reply immediately, narrowing his eyes in consideration of something.

"I could not find them," he says thoughtfully, "They have simply disappeared, like a false image in the heat of the burning sun, vanished into the glimmering air of a desert day..." he frowns.

I furrow my brow incredulously. I cannot believe that Legolas would find no sign of them. Nay, not Legolas... he can detect anything, his senses are keen... "The air has not yet reached its full heat in this early morning for the apparition to be a mirage." I say alarmed.

But Legolas seems not at all unsettled, only musing. "They are no mirage! I can feel their presence, despite finding no proof. It can only mean that they do not want to be found, and they are good at it!" He seems not at all vexed by the fact that he failed to detect the riders, and a strange fascination gleams in his grey-blue eyes, now lost again in the distance.

I look at him with scepticism, "I am sure they have seen us. It disturbs me that they seem to have disappeared. I have a strange feeling that we have been followed." I am irritated.

Legolas is still beside me, too still for him. "We _have_ been followed. They might even know where we are and are watching our moves. - Still, my senses tell me that they are no foes." He says determinedly. He looks wary, but also strangely thrilled.

It does not really disperse my concerns. "I only hope, your senses are right. – But what could they want here?!... That is what worries me. "

* * *

We peer out from behind our hiding place. There is plenty of activity, coming and going, into and from the fortress. Various men carrying goods on camelback or horseback, Northeners and Haradrim of different clothing and skin colour, even an oliphaunt passed the immense, guarded gate.

"It should be possible to move unnoticed inside the building. We can easily melt into the different travelers who populate it," I utter my thoughts aloud, "...if we find a way to pass the gate, that is. Once in, it looks to be much easier to leave the fortress. They control the incomers thoroughly, but not the ones leaving. We must stay alert and catch any opportunity."

The day grows progressively hot, the temperatures reach unbearable peaks. Too long we wait. Legolas shifts more and more beside me, becoming impatient, and I am suffering from the heat. We have to make it on this day, or we will be forced to move back, and look for water. Legolas has drunk just the slightest indispensable part, since he has left the remaining rations to me. He would never admit it, but I know that he is on the brink, so even for him it would be unsustainable to stand the next day in the burning heat without a drop; even more so would it be for me.

* * *

 **Thank you all for reading, and of course I would appreciate your review ;)**

 **Thank you Ruiniel for your lovely review on the first chapter and for** ** **always being encouraging**!**


	3. The Desert - Captive

**The Desert - Captive**

 _(Aragorn)_

"Aragorn! Our access drives in," Legolas whispers excitedly. Finally, after a long while spent in attentive monitoring, our waiting seems to bear fruit. A caravan of humans and carts drawn by mules passes the edge around the rocks and skids to a halt not far from us.

The two men in the lead seem to be engaged in an argument about some matter of payment, gesticulating and yelling at each other. One is tall and large, with a thick, dark beard and bald headed. The other is short and wiry with straw-like grey hair, a thick moustache and a particularly grumpy face.

Their loud quarrel seems to be nothing unusual, since the other men of the party look thoroughly bored by the squabbling. Some exchange impatient looks, rolling their eyes.

"What a party to travel with! Not exactly my choice if you ask me!" Legolas grimaces.

I lift an eyebrow at him, and smirk mirthlessly, "We do not have the luxury of choice I fear…" We both sigh simultaneously and then nod in agreement. Stealthily we sneak along the rocks, towards the back of the last cart.

The men are fully focused on the front of the caravan, and so, unnoticed we slide into the wooden vehicle, silently concealing between the barrels under the cover-panel. I still hear the muffled voices of the quarrelers, when with a jolt the cart begins to move.

The convoy suddenly stops once more. We have to be at the gate to the stony burg. I hold my breath as I hear the guards ask the leaders about the goods they are carrying. The shuffle of a panel thrown back from the cart just in front of ours, reaches my ears. My heart skips several beats and I glance at Legolas in suspence. I can see him share my anxiety, he bites his bottom lip returning my gaze and mirroring the same tension.

"Finally!" one of the guards exclaims, "You are most welcome! Our reserves are nearly finished, and the feast coming up this night is going to be an event of great import. Not to mention what would have happened if you had not arrived in time!" he laughs rudely.

Legolas releases his breath and shuts his eyes in relief, as the cart rumples over the stony ground and rolls through the gate.

The light dims. We peer out from a gap between the cover-panel and the wooden border of the cart. The entrance hall is huge. A high corridor leads deep inside the mountain. Several smaller corridors lead away from the main aisle. The contrast between the bright desert sun and the dim, torch lit inside of the stony building is striking.

Legolas warily scans the corridors as we are driven along, and so do I, focusing my attention towards an opportunity for us to leap out of the vehicle. We reach a room that seems to be part of the cellars of this huge cave-like fortress. This is a dead end. In mute agreement we soundlessly skid out from under our cover, and sneak further away, between boxes and barrels. I hear the men's chatter, while they unload the full barrels and successively upload as many of the empty ones the wooden carts can take.

"I need a rest after all this," says the tall, big man with the beard, yawning. "We have orders to leave in the late hours of the night, before the morning sun will hit this forsaken land. The reserves we brought will be finished within days, and the landlord will not be pleased if we tarry long. These cursed fellows are drinking like camels!"

"That is no wonder in this damned, torrid land!" the short one with the grumpy face mutters. That one seems to be in a particularly bad mood.

It looks like the guard of the cellar knows them well, since he pats the other men's shoulders.

"Take your men and get some rest. Landlord Garanol has a special reward for the ones bringing him the precious liquid. You will be sent for, tonight. There is young, tender flesh for enjoyment; just arrived this morning. The girls are pretty, not to mention the two boys... you will see! We are introducing them to their new lives this night, the little whores," he chuckles rubbing his palms.

"This invitation is surely lifting our mood!" The big one joins the guard in his dirty laughter, and the short, straw haired one nods his head, grinning, with a hungry, disgusting glint in his small eyes.

I shake my head in disbelief, my stomach clenches with disgust at the gruesome nature of the conversation. I see, from the corner of my eye, how Legolas tenses and steels his jaw. His hands twitch. I suddenly fear he might jump at the men and strangle them instantly. I have to absolutely prevent any folly from his side. We have to get out of here, as long as the guard is not on his post. I gently lay my hand upon Legolas' shoulder. My firm touch redirects his attention once more. I know that mainly I have this effect on him. His gaze flickers strangely as it meets mine, but I do not try to fathom what is going on inside of him. I motion with my head towards the open door.

We sneak around piles of boxes and barrels, making our way towards the opening. I throw a last glance to the men engaged in conversation, and then we cover the small distance. Swiftly we disappear into the corridor. My heart still hammers hard inside my chest as I lean my head back onto the wall and try to calm my nerves.

We pull our hoods over our heads to conceal our hair and features, and try to behave as relaxed and inconspicuous as possible as we stride along the corridor. I hear the men behind us leave the cellar.

"We must find out where they are taking rest," I whisper my suggestion. Legolas does not respond, but I know he agrees.

We walk on slowly. The men behind proceed in our direction. Legolas suddenly holds me by my sleeve, we look back over our shoulders, just before the men disappear into a side-passage. It is always astonishing for me to observe how finely his ears are tuned, that he can detect any change of movement from a distance without the need to see. We turn on our heels to follow the small party.

The men hold in front of a door. We walk on past the traders who enter their chambers. Nobody gives us any heed, fortunately, as I had suspected and hoped. Legolas' light is well concealed under his cloak.

This passage leads us to a main corridor. Here more people are circulating. The kitchens must be situated on this aisle as there is the smell of food wafting through the air. Servants walk up and down the corridor, from one room to the other, with pots and boxes full of nourishment. My stomach rumbles fiercely at the alluring smell. It is too long since the last time we have had anything proper to eat.

This corridor joins the main hall we have seen from under the panel. The sounds of many voices reach my ears. Different people, of different origins are gathered around tables, where food and drinks are served.

I steal a glance at Legolas and I twinkle, hoping he understands my need, and I can see him grin from under his hood. - We will not miss this opportunity! We sit, and promptly a steaming meal and a cup of mead is placed before each of us. We eat without a word. I wonder at myself and at what lack of food can do. It tastes delicious. Even in the worst of companies. I can see Legolas has more difficulty than me to enjoy his meal. He wrinkles his nose and fiddles with his fork in between. I know the smells inside this place assail him violently and not even the delight of this rich meal can make them disappear. The men sitting at our table are only one of these sources of dreadful scents. They are Northerners, and they smell of their bodies' struggle on a long journey through the hot, dry land. I do not think they had contact with water before they came to enjoy their meal. I feel sympathy for Legolas who feels it most intensely, as I myself try to focus on my food. Nevertheless I overhear the men's conversation. And they unknowingly provide valuable information; The Lord of this place will be giving a feast tonight. He has invited many of his trusted allies and traders. I notice that the men in the hall are in a good mood, preparing their minds and bellies for the festivities.

I cannot believe our luck. This coincidence comes right on cue. It will be much easier to walk unnoticed with innumerate guests populating the place, and everybody's attention focused on the feast. Not to talk of the ale which will be flowing in abundance and dulling the men's senses. This is very good news indeed!

* * *

Lanterns and torches on the walls light the corridors. They appear more sparse the deeper we get into the complicated labyrinth of tunnels and rooms. I feel Legolas' unease at the darkness and the stone surrounding us. Though he does not mention it. I know that the determination to find those youths discards all else at the moment, even to the point of acting irrationally. And so it is I who gives voice to what my reasoning tells me. "Legolas, I want to find them as much as you do. That is the reason we are in here instead of on our way home. But it is pointless to search further within this tangle of corridors and holes. Only by pure coincidence, or luck, we would find them within the next few hours, and besides, somebody might get suspicious about two guests snooping around deep into the narrow shafts."

I am relieved how quickly Legolas agrees at my suggestion to make our way back to the chambers where the traders, who unknowingly have smuggled us in, are resting. We will wait and follow them, when they will be led to the captives, according to the guard's promise.

We find a small, dark enclosure where we can keep the traders' door under observation. It provides protection from any eyes passing our way.

The sounds of the beginning feast grow louder. Music plays. Shouts and laughter melt with the indistinguishable sounds of voices in eager conversations from the crowded hall. From time to time men pass to join the feast. Even a group of orcs uttering the charring black speech make their way along the corridor.

Finally a guard walks down the passage and halts in front of the traders' sleeping room. He knocks hard against the door. The rough, sleepy, bearded face of the big man appears and the door swings open.

"Sir, Lord Garanol has sent for you. He is going to honour his promise. If you wish, my Lord invites you to the privilege of initializing young, untouched flesh," the guard speaks to the man.

"We will be right on our way!" the man prompts, and disappears inside the room.

In a short time both men, the big one and the smallish one, leave their chamber _to_ follow the guard along the corridors and shafts.

I can say Legolas is anxious beyond measure as we follow at a distance. It took him a great amount of effort to keep still in our hiding place and now that he is on the move again his muscles are eager to release all the accumulated tension. I am afraid that he will spring forward as soon as we reach our aim. I have to keep an eye on him.

We walk deep into the mountain through a wild tangle of tunnels and rooms of different sizes. I try my best to imprint the way through the shafts into my memory.

At the moment, fortunately, this part of the stronghold seems deserted. That is, until the men enter an unlit aisle. We cannot see them, but we hear their voices. They greet some other men who must already have been there, and join their talking and laughing. I cannot hear what they say. But I know Legolas does, and so I keep perfectly quiet as he listens.

"There… is where they keep the young ones," he whispers, bringing a finger to his lips to indicate that he is still listening, as the voices quiet. He stares into the void as if there he sees what his sensitive ears discern, "A key turns in a lock, metal creaks… a gate springs open. There are muffled voices… stone scratches against stone… and now a thud… and… nothing again…" he narrows his eyes and strains to listen intensively, "There is something else! …a soft whimpering and sobbing." His eyes widen in recognition and he moves fast and gracefully into the dark aisle without alerting me. I follow instantly.

We flatten our backs against the stony wall as we slowly move on in the dark. There is nobody guarding the metal gate, where the men must have entered before. Only the flickering light of glowing lanterns shines through. Now I hear it too, the distressed whimpering and sobbing. There is something like a window, or rather a barred hole to the dark passage we are in. Through which it is possible to see into the cell without being noticed, given the darkness in the shaft. The barren gate is a dozen feet further away from the window hole.

Inside the cell, fixed all around on the walls, are metal rings, manacles, collars and shackles. In the middle of the room stand two poles equipped with the same metal makeshifts, like the ones on the walls.

Two youths, clothed in dusty, torn garments, are secured to each a pair of the manacles which leave their arms suspended, tied back to the wall. They are downed to their knees, their heads hanging, their feet are shackled, their bodies slumped forward. It is a miserable sight. The boy's hair at shoulder length and the girl's long to her waist, raven black, hang in strands over their sagged heads, obscuring their faces. I gasp in horror. Legolas' eyes are wide and unblinking as he takes in the sight. I can see how he struggles to keep his emotions under control. He had been a youth like them then, not in years, but in the same stage of maturity. I know that he cannot let this go on, and neither can I. I lay my hand on his shoulder and squeeze it comfortingly. Our eyes meet in the semi-darkness. His are fiery with anger, they glow in the dark.

"I will find out where the others are being kept. That stone-door inside the cell must be the connection to other such rooms. I guess that is not the only way. This aisle might get me there as well. I am going to find out. I will go alone, I will be swift and silent," he announces in a low, controlled voice. His determination is obvious. I argue not. He is old enough. He is much older than I, even if at times I feel like I have to protect him.

"Please, be careful," I plead, "I do not like this situation at all!" But when his mind is made I know there is no way to dissuade him. He is not a child, not at all.

"In the meantime, I will discover how that lock on the gate can be cracked. There is a high possibility that all the locks around here are functioning by the same mechanism."

It will not only distract me from the worry of our insane mission but it will also be useful in buying us precious time. We have to be fast to make up our plan of escape if we want to free the youths. It all has to happen this night. There will be no more feast tomorrow. It is our only opportunity.

"Now go, or I might change my mind!" I frown. I hate to separate from Legolas under these circumstances, but before I can worry further, Legolas moves away into the dark, narrow shaft that leads around the cell. I watch him disappear, swift and silent like a cat. For a moment my heart clenches with fear.

I force myself to my task. I fish the pin which I am usually carrying on me for such cases from my pocket, and I approach the metal gate. Silently I explore the lock.

I have to bend the small, pointed item at the right angle... It will not be too difficult. I can make it. I keep so silent the children do not even notice me.

My father has taught me well.

My ability to open nearly any lock that exists in Middle-Earth has proved useful several times. It has saved my own life and many more.

As a child it was so much fun to open almost any door on my way, to find out what was behind it, or just for the sake of it. My brothers saved me from trouble because of that habit more than once, until master Elrond had to intervene.

'To be able to open locks does not mean you must do it any time you encounter one. It is an ability meant to be used only in case of dire need. Only therefore I taught you, my son.'

Sometimes what was clear to my father, was not that obvious to me. But all that my father explained to me, I took very seriously, and from then on I did not get into trouble again - at least not for opening locks.

I smile at the memory.

* * *

 **With my thanks to Ruiniel for her constant support.**

 **Thanks to you all for reading, and stay safe!**


	4. The Desert - Veiled in Blue

**In these times reading and writing is much of a reprieve to me. Even if the time for it is scarse with the kids at home and work to pursue. When I finish reading the news and do not want to worry nor even think anymore about what is going on in the world, I dive into middle-earth. I am so grateful to the amazing authors who share their creations to make this possible. And I hope I can also contribute to give a little distraction to some of you.  
**

 **Thank you so much Ruiniel for beta-reading; it is an honour to have an awesome writer like you supporting me.**

* * *

 **The Desert - Veiled in Blue**

Legolas slid into a dark corner. There was the same hole secured by metal bars to the cell. His assumption had been right. He saw the men and the captives from his hiding place; two girls, their hands chained to the wall behind them, their feet laid in shackles: the same image he and Aragorn had encountered on the other side. The youths' heads hanging, they avoided to look at the men standing before them.

A dozen in number, the 'guests' watched them with greedy eyes as a lavishly garbed man, whom Legolas assumed was the Lord of the fortress, boasted about his new acquisitions. Two guards stood in front of the narrow, open gate but they seemed at ease and not overly watchful. They were instead rather focused on what was happening inside the cell.

"Are they not pretty _?_ " the man who seemed to be the Lord praised, stepping close to one of the girls and tipping her chin up with his finger, so the men could see her face. Fear was written on her features and in her dark eyes before she closed them, as if attempting to shut out the dreadful image of the men so openly staring at her.

"A pack of dirty Haradrim! These ones are quite fair, only lightly brownish tinged. Brats of those desert folk rats; a proud, arrogant breed, who would rather die than bend. But look how pretty their whelps are!"

"Indeed they are, Lord Garanol!" One of the men spoke with a greedy grin.

Garanol stroked the girl's arm with feigned tenderness, fingers trailing up to her shoulder, and then wrapped his hand shortly around her neck. She tensed, pressing her eyes closed.

"... not dark like the last brats from Far Harad. These are far more gracious than those dark Far-Haradrim with their stronger build. Those ones have served their purpose as well, I admit. Though _these_ are little jewel-whores."

He slid his hand through the other girl's long, black hair. His fingers tangled into the strands at the back of her head and he pulled roughly, forcing her head up. A small cry escaped her lips.

"Their skin is so even, so young! Literally screaming to be touched! I am pleased indeed to offer you this opportunity!"

The girl opened her eyes for a moment. They went wide with horror as she stared from one man to the other, terrified, before she shut her lids again. Her whole body trembled.

Legolas stood flat against the wall, observing the scene. He felt fear surging through his own body; the same emotions he had gone through centuries ago. He remembered it all, as if it had passed just the day before. His mind swirled, his body froze. His breathing quickened.

As he looked around him, breathing deeply and trying to regain control over his body and mind, he discovered an opening a bit further away in the wall opposite the open cell. It was in a dark corner, where the light of the cell's lanterns reached not. He directed his attention there and listened. He could discern yet more whimpering and a soft rattling of chains.

He surmised that was where the remaining children must be held.

The distraction helped him regain control of his senses.

He had to see closer, to determine if both remaining children were held in that place. When they returned to free them, they would need to know straight ahead where to go.

As he considered how to make his way there unnoticed, to his amazement he spotted two veiled figures moving swiftly and silently around the corner from the opposite side. One slipped into the darkened room, and the other stood perfectly still, flattened to the unlit wall, concealed by his long, dark garment. Legolas' elven eyes could _see_ , even in this shadowed place, that the colour of his veil was blue.

'The blue riders!' his mind threw.

He suddenly knew what they were there for.

He listened to the soft sounds; a crackling of metal and hushed whispers coming from the darkened room where the blue-veiled figure had disappeared.

So focused on these new happenings he was, that the elf started when he heard the man they called Lord Garanol say: "You can have these ones! Do with them whatever pleases you. Just the ones I have shown you before, in the other cell, I am saving for myself alone," he grinned, "I will send the guards to get the remaining two. Go ahead!"

It took Legolas no more than a heartbeat to realize that it was now about to happen; that, which he could not allow. The girls were so frightened, it broke his heart. And if the guards went to get the others from the room behind, they might discover the veiled rescuers.

He had to act, and swiftly!

Dashing out of his hiding place, his bow highly strung, he shot the surprised guards faster than they could blink. He leaped through the gate. Cold anger flashed in his grey-blue eyes as he drew his knives for close combat. The men were astonished and afeared when met with the icy fury of the elf. They grabbed their weapons and sprung into attack; thirteen against one.

Legolas nimbly avoided their blades, ducking, twisting and spinning around in a wild yet graceful dance. His twin knives struck flesh, injuring one man's shoulder and another one's forearm. A third one was unlucky enough to draw too close in his attack. Legolas drove his elven blade deep into the man's chest. A surprised outcry left the human's throat, and as Legolas jerked his knife out of the body, it bumped heavily to the floor and did not rise again.

The men realized, that even if numerically superior, they could hardly withstand the viciousness and speed of this fierce fighter. Before Legolas could accomplish the next lethal blow, he heard a frantic voice shout out.

"Cease! Drop your weapons or she will die!"

Legolas halted mid movement. His eyes locked on Garanol, whom the voice had come from, and he saw how the man had pulled the girl's head back by her long hair, his blade ready to cut her slender throat. Legolas' eyes widened in shock.

"Drop them! Now!" Garanol yelled, pressing the blade tighter against the tender skin, drawing blood. The girl gasped in fear.

Legolas had no choice. His knives fell to the ground with a clang. The men immediately secured him, grabbing each one of his arms, and twisting them painfully behind his back. He could have freed himself, they could not match his strength… but there was the girl, and the knife at her throat.

He was trapped.

His thoughts swirled uncontrollably. He steeled his jaw, but inside, secretly he panicked.

 _No! They could not have him! No!_

The memory of past times when men had captured him crept over him like a nightmare and he struggled against the men's hold, almost yanking himself free.

"Hold him!" Garanol yelled, and pushed the stone door open. It took more of them, with united efforts, to keep the struggling elf under control.

"Bring him to the other side and bind him to the poles!" their Lord barked.

* * *

Aragorn had worked the pin into the lock of the barren gate. Turning it slightly, he carefully lifted the barb and the lock sprung open.

He had not the time to let the feeling of satisfaction sink in, as suddenly the heavy stone door sprung open with a scratching sound. He instantly retired back into the cover of shadow behind the barred window-hole.

His heart sank as he saw men shove the struggling golden-haired being through the door with difficulty.

"I thought all your kind have disappeared from the Southern Lands. Yet, it seems not so. Still helping the desert folk, interfering in the best of moments... humm?!" Garanol shouted in anger and struck Legolas full force in the stomach.

The elf bent over at the aggressive blow as the air was forced out of his lungs. The men took advantage of the elf's pain to secure his hands and feet to the metal rings.

Legolas twisted and yanked against the ropes binding him, but it was useless. He only caused the ropes to cut into his flesh.

After the initial shock, Aragorn prepared to rush to the aid of his friend. The gate lay open now. He knew, the probability to face them all alone and succeed was small, but he had to try. He could not bear to leave Legolas in the hands of these men any longer. He refused even to think of what they would do to the elf. He had no other choice.

If he made it to cut Legolas' bonds... there would be two of them...

Before he could spring forward, a hand suddenly gripped his shoulder and he felt a blade placed to his throat. Aragorn gasped in surprise.

How could he have been caught as unawares as this _?_!

He had heard absolutely nothing approach, not a single warning.

How could that be?!

"Shhh!" the being holding him summoned softly into his ear from behind, holding the knife with unmistakable determination. Aragorn dared not to move. From the corner of his eyes he tried to catch sight of his captor. He glimpsed slender, long fingers on his shoulder and a blue sleeve drawn over the hand.

Was it the hand of a young woman?

Aragorn perceived the hold on him as firm, but not rough, rather gentle, if that could be possible with a blade to his throat.

Immobilized like this, he had no choice but to watch the happenings inside the cell.

* * *

"But then again..." Garanol exclaimed, his wicked face turning to a greedy grin, "Look what opportunity offers to us... - Yes, we have young, tender flesh waiting to be initiated..."

He cupped the bound children's chins upwards roughly, while they pressed their eyes closed, "...but what about having our fun with an elf? - The children will go nowhere... In the meantime they can watch!"

He stepped toward Legolas who had given up struggling against his bonds. He glared instead at the men around him with cold hate in his piercing, blue eyes. He was desperately trying to keep his pride and anger about him as a protective wall, while inside of him the fear made his heart race and his breath come short.

Legolas flinched despite himself as the vile Lord reached out and roughly tore his shirt open. He felt like he was placed back into the nightmare he had experienced so long ago. The situation, exactly rebuilt, as real now as it was then. He desperately struggled to pull his wrists from the bonds holding him, which only made the ropes cut deeper into his skin.

His thoughts drifted to the trees of his home. He needed to reach out to them, cry to them of his agony. But they were far and could not soothe nor help him, his silent cries lost on their way.

"Look at how pretty he is, the elf-boy!" Garanol teased, cupping Legolas' face with his hand.

Legolas then tried to send his mind into the sky; deep blue and bright with Anor's golden light. He longed to lose himself in its infinity. But the sky was debarred from him, outside over the vast desert. And he was trapped.

He pulled away in disgust. As a reaction Garanol unexpectedly grabbed his dagger and buried it into the elf's shoulder, just beneath his collarbone. Legolas bit back a cry. Before he could get control of the sudden pain, the dagger slashed into his side. He gasped and jerked at the repeated attack.

He tried to imagine a small waterfall in spring, rushing into a clear pond. His body diving in the rushing, cool and pure water. But all he could feel was the sharp pain of his injuries.

"This will teach you not to fight me when I touch you, elf!" Garanol spat in anger.

* * *

Aragorn winced at the blow striking his friend. He felt the young woman behind him tense, but she released not her firm grip on him.

The men watched their Lord hitting and threatening the elf, with a broad grin on their faces.

A sharp punch made Legolas' head drop back. When he lifted it up again, his lip was split, and his eyes glared at Garanol hard and cold.

"You are a coward! Stealing children to satisfy your foul and beastly desires! I will kill you! All of you!" Legolas' voice sliced low and lethal.

"You are not in a position to threaten me, elf!"

The filthy Lord stepped close, "He seems so proud, the pretty boy! Never did I expect to get a fair boy like this one to enjoy! Gentlemen, after I am done, every one of you can have his turn with him!"

Aragorn felt his anger flare. Anger and despair. He burned to kill this woman. He was about to shatter with the need to eliminate anything that prevented him to help his friend. But she held him firm.

* * *

Legolas tensed, attempting to rein the trembling of his body.

 _No! It could not be! He would not survive this time. Those children would see. They should not see! - Aragorn! Where was he? Had he been caught?_

If not so, Legolas hoped he would not risk capture in coming to his aid. He hoped his friend would flee, save himself. Or come to him later with a plan. Yet he knew, that was not very likely of the ranger.

 _Perhaps he had been captured. Perhaps he would be forced to watch. - No! He just should not see! His friend should not see his weakness, his shame!_

Legolas' breath quickened uncontrollably, as Garanol spread the blood on his lips with his thick fingers and slowly stroked down over his chin and throat. He pressed on Legolas' airway until the elf gasped for breath, before he traced down the line in the middle of the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen. The cruel Lord's voice and the glint in his eyes betrayed his greedy lust.

Legolas then tried to find in his mind the moon and the stars in the night. But the moon was pale and the stars about to fade. And all he saw was increasing, menacing darkness.

"How tender this fair flesh is! Perfectly smooth! The pride will be gone from your pretty, blue eyes very soon, little fawn!" Garanol menaced, remarking the distress betrayed through the tense body of his prisoner.

* * *

Aragorn felt helpless. Forced to watch his friend in the agony of his deepest fear, he saw how the elf shuddered in his despair.

 _No..._

 _It could not happen before his eyes! He had to stop it!_

It was to him as if the being holding him trembled slightly as the events went on, and he dared to turn his head slowly, seeking her face. He met dark eyes glistening with compassion, and a face under a blue veil. - He should have killed her! - Instead his eyes pleaded. But the veiled woman did not relent her grip on him, slowly shaking her head.

"Not yet..." she breathed, only audible to the ranger's ears, the knife pressed hard against his throat. She did not wish to, but Aragorn felt like she would not hesitate to kill him if he fought her. His throat burned, from the pressure of the blade and from the pain of this twisted turn of events.

Suddenly, two blue clothed figures slid past them, their footsteps silent. They nodded curtly to Aragorn's captor and rushed towards the gate; their movements stealthy and swift, their garments covering everything but their hands and their eyes, crowning their heads in a turban-like shape.

"Now!" the woman hissed the whispered command into Aragorn's ear, and released her hold on him.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading. And please consider leaving a review. It would mean much to me to hear your thoughts. Stay safe!**


	5. The Desert - Escape

**Many thanks to Ruiniel for beta-reading.**

* * *

 **The Desert - Escape**

They came flying through the gate, two tall figures in a flurry of flowing blue. Then at once two gasps of dying men neatly speared by flashing swords, and at first Legolas could not comprehend this beauty of violence. Until the vile, molesting hands released him. His heart leaped when he saw Aragorn rush to his aid. His friend's face was stern and controlled as he swiftly cut the wicked bonds around his wrists and ankles.

He was beyond relieved for his freedom, but chaos had now erupted all around him.

"Hannon-le, mellon-nìn!" He whispered. Aragorn threw his dagger which Legolas seized firmly, now prepared for combat.

He was a free warrior yet again.

The wounds in his shoulder and his side bled and throbbed but he ignored them. He fought the men who had leered at him obtrusively with nothing but a dagger and his bare hands. The hate they had awoken within him spurred him, and he felt the wilderness he normally kept at bay rushing, as the boiling blood shot through his veins. He could see they feared him.

His knives lay on the other side, out of his reach, where he had been forced to let them fall. How he longed for them now!

He could see a veiled female figure struggling to free the children from their chains. His senses had been correct with regards to these beings, and their unlikely alliance fascinated him _._

Aragorn hurried to the woman's aid, he cracked the locks and they could flee. Legolas saw her slight frame press against the stony door, the children near by her side. And in the midst of battle he was astonished to see the heavy portal suddenly open wide, and his knives lying in the threshold.

"Hannon-le!" He whispered to the retreating form.

The elven blades glinted in the lantern-light like jewels to his eyes. His spirits soared and his hands welcomed them with cheer. He took control of his familiar, deadly weapons as if they were a natural extension of his limbs. He felt a feral thirst of revenge take over.

Aragorn saw. He caught the change in him. He knew his friend was ready. He had learnt to read him.

"Go!" he shouted to the blue-veiled men and nodded at the elf, "Take the children away from here!"

The veiled men hesitated, but after exchanging a deep look of agreement one of them rushed after the children.

The fight went on, and Legolas was startled at the rush of thrilling satisfaction that pulsed through his veins, anytime he felt the sickening sound of blade slashing into flesh. He renounced the thought that these were humans, who had been born unmarred by evil, before it pulled them to its side. Compassion had no place in war, and he had learned this through the years. This ability was fundamental to survive centuries and millennia. His final aim of vengeance was their filthy lord, who had dared touch his skin. The man took advantage of the turmoil, skidded through the barren gate, and ran away.

Legolas dashed to follow him.

His wounds throbbed. They slowed him. But nevertheless he swiftly reached the fleeing enemy, who was about to scream his throat raw through the clangorous passages. Legolas could not allow him to raise the entire stronghold against them. He slammed the man into the wall with one aimed kick between the shoulder blades.

"Be silent, coward!" He hissed, standing tall before the gasping man.

The man's eyes were wide with dread as the elf's stare burned into him. His gaze slid fearfully over the fair being's upper body, whose muscles twitched dangerously and showed through his torn, open shirt. The elf wanted his tormentor to see, that what he thought smooth and wanted to turn weak, was now powerful and menacing. He wanted him to know that grace can kill.

In a desperate attempt to keep the enraged elf away the man attacked with frantic, uncontrolled moves of his sword.

But Legolas was faster than the other could even imagine. He ducked the blindly aggressive blows easily, and slashed out one well aimed stab.

With a surprised and disbelieving final expression on his face, the man tumbled back against the wall. And there he slid to the ground, eyes wide-open and glazed.

Legolas breathed heavily as he wiped his bloodied knife on the fallen leader's tunic. He did not want the blood of filth on his glinting blades. And suddenly the strain caused by his injuries crashed in on him. He held the burning wound in his side. It bled profusely. But then he heard steps running down the corridor and he turned abruptly, ready to pounce. His relief was great as he recognized it was Aragorn, accompanied by the blue-veiled man.

Without a word Aragorn handed him his bow and quiver. Legolas nodded once, gratefully accepting his beloved weapons and sheathed his knives.

Aragorn clasped his friend's forearm, pulling him close. His gaze spoke concern as he took in the gravity of the elf's injuries. And concern also marked his voice. "Legolas, your wounds look bad. They need to be tended to!"

Legolas knew his friend was right, but he pulled away from him and protested, "I am fine. There is no time!"

He was an elf, his body could weather it. – Or so he hoped. - He had taken worse than this.

The man in blue was already on the move. "Follow me!" He summoned in a low voice.

Aragorn did not argue with the elf, nor with the man who was pressing them on. Though, it was obvious that Legolas was not fine, and he knew it as much as Aragorn did. He could see the healer's reluctance at neglecting it. Perhaps the ranger also nurtured hope that the elf's body could bear it. In one thing they were certain, the veiled man and Legolas: there was no time to linger. The two friends hurried after their guide as he led them through the tangled corridors. He seemed to know his way perfectly.

Soon, they neared the fleeing group. The party moved slowly, since the three men and the woman were supporting the weakened youths.

They came not one minute too early; Several men, followed by a mass of orcs, now raced towards the fugitives. They cut off their way, and forced them to detour into a side-tunnel. Legolas charged forward immediately followed by Aragorn. The gathered forces of the blue-veiled people were needed with the youths. The archer's swift, precise arrows struck the first Orcs. As the enemies scurried too close, Legolas slung his bow on his back in favour of his knives. The man and the elf fought side by side, and together they covered the path of the fugitives against an overwhelming number of attackers. They ducked and slashed out, they fell the orcs who were sent into the front lines first. The dead beasts littered the passageway. None of them survived and only a few men still stood.

Legolas was strained from the injuries, but he could not afford to slow down now, and so he maintained the dizzying speed, ignoring his protesting body. He knew not how he did it. As if owing to a hidden source of energy, he endured.

They were close, so close at having battled down this rush!

But then more men appeared, garbed in the long, grey garments of the guards, racing towards them. Legolas' heart sank. It would not be possible for his weary body to keep up that rhythm for much longer.

The men who had joined the battle last, draw their swords, but to Legolas' surprise they hit their enemies, fighting on their side. With their aid the fight was quickly won, the men and orcs all slain. Together they retreated towards the fleeing party.

The new men spoke to the blue clad people in a foreign language Legolas could not understand. They urged them into hurry, highly alert, as if they expected another rush at any time, from any connecting passage, during their flight.

Their concerns were valid as another group of orcs and men suddenly appeared from a connecting corridor.

Aragorn and Legolas stayed behind with the men disguised as guards, to meet the new assault head on. Legolas immediately released arrow after arrow. They struck their targets each. The group was large, and soon the enemies drew close, forcing the elf to leave his bow in favour of his knives once more and join the others.

"Traitors!" The men shouted to the false guards.

Their attack was full of anger, but the combined fighting skills proved lethal. Then, just before it seemed all was ended, Legolas saw the young man close to him sink to his knees, hands pressed to his sternum. For a breath he was overtaken by the abrupt, tragic turn. Rage flared in him and instantly he sliced the throat of the man who had landed the blow. His mind pounded painfully with sharp regret at being too late.

His companions came to his aid at once. Concern and despair showed in their amber-tinged faces, as they held the young, wounded man between them. They carried him, as the defenders caught up with the others. At a certain point they commanded all to stop, speaking in the foreign language. One of the men unlocked a tiny door with the key he carried on his belt. A narrow shaft appeared behind it. They gave instructions in their language and dismissed the group of fugitives into it. Gently they committed their injured companion into Legolas' and Aragorn's arms.

"Take him with you. Our cover must not be blown. Bring him out! It is bad with him." They spoke in haste.

Legolas blamed himself for failing to prevent it all. He should have seen before the strike fell. He lowered his gaze aware that Aragorn knew what was going on within him. He mostly did. And with a warm light in his eyes that only the elf could see, his friend sought to comfort him.

They slipped through the door holding the wounded youngster. His companions quickly locked it behind them. It was pitch-black in the passage and silent as a tomb. Their steps and breathing broke through the dull void. Following the dark tunnel, the elf's free hand groped along the stony wall. The air was thin and the narrow walls closed in on them mercilessly. The wounded man's breathing came shallow and ragged - as did Legolas'. But there was no space for the elf to worry about himself. They carried the weight of a young one he failed to defend.

Finally, after harrowing, complete darkness, daylight shimmered in, and soon they stumbled out into the dazzling light of the desert-morning.

Now, in the plain light of day Legolas assessed the state of the youngster they carried. His face was no longer amber-tinged, but grey and pale. Cold sweat beaded on his skin, his hair was wet with it and stuck to his face. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. Dark shades had formed under his almond eyes, and in his middle, the blood had stained a large, dark cloud upon the garment.

A wave of despair threatened to drown the elf. He should have prevented this! He cursed his own weakness, feeling crushed by the extent of his own injuries. His head swam, and he glanced at Aragorn in hope to receive a warm flash of light from his eyes. He could not crumble now. He was an elf. He could ever push over limits.

The veiled woman who walked before them, supporting one of the boys, glanced back over her shoulder. Concern and sorrow were clearly written in her eyes. They kept moving fast as there was no time for delay. They fled towards the rocks, behind the massive of the stronghold.

* * *

They gently lay the young man down by the shelter. The woman hurried to their aid. Aragorn cut the fabric of his tunic and she peeled it away from the injury. Aragorn moved back respectfully. And Legolas stood completely still, feeling a deepening powerlessness within.

Her eyes were blurred as she examined the wound and lay her other hand on the young man's brow. The woman lifted her gaze to look into the hopeful, concerned faces around her. And then she closed her eyes, and slowly lowered her head, indicating that there was nothing she could do to save him. Their eyes were wide and shimmered with retained tears.

Guilt and regret took hold of Legolas; a burning pain in the pit of his stomach, taking his breath away.

She kept her one hand comfortingly on the young man's brow. With the other she took his hand and held it tight against his own heart, and she waited, just waited, patiently staying by his side, while he suffered the agony his wounded, dying body put him through.

He was so very young. Barely more than a child. Legolas should have prevented this, he accused himself, he had been so close…

In her eyes the elf could see how she struggled through the pain with him. He heard her low whispers; soft soothing words in a language he did not understand.

The body under her touch slowly relaxed, and her eyes fell shut. Her head sagged in relief and defeat.

Legolas was overwhelmed by the pain.

He felt Aragorn's warm hand softly on his shoulder. "This is not your fault, nobody blames you! Do not lay this weight upon yourself." He whispered. His gaze was warm and calm, to reassure his friend. His eyes were full of sorrow. He grieved as well.

And then, as if surging from the depth of the sand under them, Legolas heard her barely restrained cry of sharpest anguish. This desolate wail of utter agony soared into the sky above and pierced deep into his heart.

They did not blame him - but he did. The tragic scene replayed in his troubled mind relentlessly.

The colours and the forms blurred, they fused and spinned around him, and then the world turned black.

* * *

He blinked confusedly at the bright light that assailed his eyes. Aragorn's handsome, familiar features slowly flickered into focus.

"Praise the Valar, you are returned to us," his voice drifted softly over the elf.

Burning pain swept across his side and shoulder. Aragorn frowned as he sensed his discomfort, and quickly stopped his ministrations.

Legolas heard soft voices beside him. The children were perched against the rocks; exhausted, bruised and drained. His gaze locked on the slight, veiled figure who tenderly hovered over them. She offered water to drink and food to eat, for them to regain strength. She spread ointment on the bruises where the ropes and the metals had left their marks, and she gave them hugs, caresses and soft words, to cure the injuries deep within.

Absorbed the elf watched the dedication she brought to the young ones; her soothing touches, her eyes patient, calm and comforting... And suddenly he was seized by an inexplicable wish to receive her comfort, to feel her caring touch.

Bewildered he shrugged the thought away. He saw Aragorn over him, firm and strong, he cared for him; and it felt good to have him close. The soothing trees of his home were far, unreachable, they could not bestow healing onto him. Here in this land surrounded by sand, the presence of his friend gave him security and helped him brush aside the memories of a nightmare he had been much too close to relive. He was his steadying tree. Legolas sighed, while he watched the worried, grey eyes, and he smiled when they met his.

Yet, strange questions floated through his mind. - Had she placed his knives in the threshold? What had she seen? What did she know? Had she beheld his torment?

As if she sensed it, her gaze drifted towards the man and the elf.

Secretive she was, almost bizarre, hiding behind the veil and the darkness in her eyes. While Legolas was exposed, lying injured, bare chested on the floor, unshielded from her sight. - And yet it frightened him not. It oddly thrilled and soothed him at the same time.

She rose and drew close. Legolas tensed, frowning at his own reaction. She looked at Aragorn questioningly.

Legolas could see him nod in answer. "He will be fine. No vital organs have been compromised. If the wounds get not infected, he will regain his full strength within the next few days."

She gently lay her slender hand upon the elf's brow and made a gesture of agreement. Her palm felt strangely cool, and agreeably warm alike. Legolas withheld his breath but before he could even garner what happened, she pulled her hand back. She gave Aragorn a salve and returned to the children.

From time to time her eyes ghosted over the elf. Or so he felt.

He had beheld her searing cry of anguish, borne from the depths of the earth, as if she had shortly dropped her veil. He could not push aside the remorse that his failure had caused the tragedy. - And yet she did not despise him; her gaze bore concern.

It was highly appeasing, when Aragorn gently spread the cooling ointment on his burning wounds. He truly had a healer's gentlest hands. Though, Legolas wished, every time he met those wandering eyes, for her fingers to spread the ointment on his skin.

He could not comprehend this intricate attraction. - Perhaps it was only induced by the effects of his injuries; a folly, a fleeting sensation driven on by his hallucinating mind, induced by massive blood loss. - It was disconcerting.

He closed his eyes to shed it all away; the tormented children, the dead youngster, his remorse, her eyes, her veil, her whole being… He tried to appease the confusion. But even with shut lids his mind craved for her touch.

* * *

That same day, beneath the full heat of the desert-noon, the men, joined by Aragorn, dug a deep grave into the sand, and carefully buried the body that had been wrapped into white linen. They did it in silence and respect.

Legolas was not allowed to aid them. They blamed him not; they cared. But could he ever forgive himself, or would this young man be one more burden engraved forever in his fëa?

"Once more, one of our people has been torn from us. Our brave, young men give their lives for the most honourable cause; freedom! As long as we live, we will resist the evil and affront it! We have people infiltrated in the strongholds spread throughout our territory. We know how to hide in the lands of our ancestors. We will keep hope alive, as long as we exist! With every fallen warrior we speak out the promise; never to forget, never to surrender - to keep our free spirit alive. - The moon is looking upon him while he re-joins with the creator."

As the veiled man spoke, in Westron, for the foreigners to understand, his people held their right hands to their hearts. A weary sadness turning into fierce determination showed in their dark eyes, in the men's hidden faces, covered by their veils.

The men were probably in their late twenties or early thirties, from what Legolas could judge by their strong posture and their almond eyes glinting in the sunlight. The woman, whose head was covered by a loose, blue veil pulled over her mouth and nose, looked younger than them, maybe only slightly older than the youngsters they had rescued. Her youthful skin, tinged the slightest shade of amber, showing around her almond eyes, and the slim root of her nose, her flawless, slender fingers - apparent signs in spite of her veil - betrayed the young appearance.

Though, her eyes looked sad and weary - far beyond her tender age - while she was holding her hand to her heart.

* * *

They had spent the day camped in the shady protection of the rocks.

The veiled man spoke with a soft, low, throaty voice, telling Aragorn they were secure. Their infiltrated people inside the stronghold would have led their pursuers another way, and due to the death of its lord there might be quite a lot of confusion in the fortress. It was unlikely that the enemy was prepared to reorganize as fast, after the turn of events; that fact was contributing to their advantage.

It was always him, who spoke to them. - Maybe the others did not speak Westron… - Though, Legolas got the feeling that they understood. The men were simply silent. Yet their eyes shone openly and welcoming.

"I am Amar," the man introduced himself, late afternoon, when the sun was already making its way down to the horizon, "We are _Taruen_ , free people of the desert."

"I am named Estel and my friend is Legolas, we come from the North." Aragorn replied, introducing them by their true elven names. Why he used their right names, and his elven one, Legolas knew not. It had come so very naturally over his lips, and Legolas did not question it.

The man simply nodded and inquired no further.

Legolas had remarked throughout the day, how quiet these people were for humans - unusually quiet.

"Rest as much as you can," Amar told the ranger, "We will move on before dawn."

* * *

As Aragorn opened his eyes, blinking into the night, the men were already packing their small amount of things. Amar gave a few respectful orders and they moved off, disappearing behind the rocks.

"There is a long ride before us. We will ride through half the night and the whole day. Can your friend make it?" Amar inquired.

Aragorn nodded. "His kind is healing fast and is stubbornly strong. And this one might be the most stubborn of his kin. - He will make it."

He gave Legolas an affectionate grin. The elf glared at the human through narrowed, mischievous eyes, too exhausted to reply to the jest. The little crinkles around Amar's eyes were the only sign that he was smiling under his veil as he looked between the two friends.

The men returned with two more companions and the animals; six camels - these wondrous, tenacious beasts, perfectly adapted to the roughness of the desert - and three horses.

But despite the amazement at beholding the strange desert steeds from such closeness, Aragorn's mouth dropped open at the sight of the horses; one black like the night, one white, shimmering in the moonlight and one brown, its colour showing faintly in the pale moon's glow. The white and the brown horses snorted softly and came trotting towards them.

Amar smiled, the tiny crinkles around his eyes showing again. "They are yours, are they not?"

They were! - Baradhroch, Aragorn's good, old brown one, and Gwedal, Legolas' white mare, her feet as fast as the wind.

Aragorn and Legolas caressed their animals' nostrils, happy for the reunion.

So the party rode out before morning break; Aragorn on his stallion bearing Legolas, while the white mare followed her injured master. The youths were each placed on a camel, with a blue warrior leading the steed at their backs. Their bodies and spirits were fragile from the trauma they had lived through. The woman rode on the black horse, staying close, changing position every time she saw a child's eyes threatening to despair, so her soft gaze could catch the lost soul and share comfort.

The moon shone down on them, enveloping everything in its silver light. The night appeared surreal, a scene from another world, in another sphere of the universe. Aragorn slowly rode, Legolas in his arms, into a world as of yet unknown, becoming part of it.

They rode in silence; the way of these people, that had already touched them the day before. It was not the uncomfortable sort. It was a certain calm, it was peace, it was a patience and endurance emanating from the riders; the silence of the desert, accompanied by the singing of the nightly breeze brushing over the dunes that reformed the sand constantly anew, in small, decorating waves under their mounts' feet.

The morning painted the landscape, and in the golden sea that was the desert, the slender riders appeared as large, majestic birds, their blue veils fluttering like glistening wings blown by the wind.

They rode towards that which was yet unseen and unknown to them, rode with firm endurance.

The air was hot, and it had become increasingly difficult for Legolas to stay focused on reality, in the dryness of the day with the loss of blood he had suffered. His consciousness was drifting between reality and hallucination. The scenes of this ride had seemed unreal from the moment they had begun; beautifully unreal. This unreality swept away the painful dryness in his throat and his veins, as the thirst took its toll on him.

Aragorn felt the unusual weakness in the prince's body leaning back against his chest, and wrapped his arms more tightly around his friend, steadying his weightless form.

"I beg you stay awake my friend," he pleaded softly into Legolas' ear repeatedly, "Please, do not drift!"

Even their horses' paces became sluggish. - They were riding on horses not camels! Did these people not know the difference?

Their last water supplies dwindled before they had even ridden off.

Aragorn began to think with sarcasm, that those people must have a water storage in their bodies like the one of their steeds. - How else would they ride out into the baking heat of the desert, without a drop of liquid?!

He dreaded for how Legolas' body would cope with the bloodloss in these harsh conditions. Even the woman glanced at them hesitantly sometimes from the distance with concern in her eyes, he remarked.

But he kept quiet, not daring to break the silence that was stretching like a blanket of respect between the beings and the desert.

As his thirst became almost unbearable, Aragorn began to see a lake glimmering in front of the rocks appearing in the distance. As they drew closer, to his disappointment, the lake disappeared, though the rocks persisted.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading, and I wish you stay well.**


	6. The Desert - Friendship

**Some impressions about the People of the Desert are inspired by the books of _Federica de Cesco_.**

* * *

 **The Desert - Friendship**

 _(Aragorn)_

I have held Legolas close to me for the entirety of this excruciating journey. He has drifted in and out of consciousness, his light weight slack against me, his head resting between my neck and shoulder. One arm I hold across his chest steadying him, dulling the jarring motions of Baradhroch's gait. My efforts to keep him awake failed. My fingers linger on the artery at his neck. It pulses constantly, yet diminishing more and more in strength. I am beyond myself with fear of losing him to Mandos. The fascinating calm of these silent people now maddens me. But exhaustion has left me too drained to express my anger. I say nothing to break their silence. I just hold fast as best I can. I cannot think, I cannot see anything but stone and sand, and my throat burns with unrelenting thirst. My only longing is for water, and as I see it shimmering in the distance I already know that it is a deceptive mirage. We only ride towards more jagged, torrid rocks. My fingers still feel the softly thrumming pulse, I cling desperately to it, to him, and pray he may endure.

And then as if miraculously awoken from a nightmare I blink several times before I stare in astonishment. Clear water streams from an indentation in the rock-wall; flowing into a small pool on the rocky ground, trickling over the stones and sinking into the sand. Small bushes grow in the close area.

So these people are not completely insane! And my relief is great.

They have not led us into the middle of nowhere, across a landscape that can kill. They know exactly how to travel the land.

The water feels wonderfully refreshing as it slids down my throat. Finally I dare remove my fingers from Legolas' pulse. I manage to make him swallow the precious water. Slowly his senses return, he stirs and he sips the fluid I hold gently to his lips. He realizes that it is me behind him because with weak fingers he clasps my arm reassuringly, and fondly leans back against my body supporting him.

"We will not stay long. We need to reach the camp before nightfall. It is in the area of _The Spread Mountain Hills_. If we ride north-east we should find it in time," Amar explains.

I frown. This does not bode well with me, after the recent experience. I still doubt their sanity. From the words Amar has spoken, the man seems not to really know where they will find their aim.

Fortunately this short reprieve has allowed Legolas to rebuild some of his strength. He sits now straight on Baradhroch in front of me, barely needing my support. Yet I am glad he has not insisted to ride on his own, I dread what it would have taken me to dissuade him, now that he has regained some of his composure. In the company of these people he seems to be much more cooperative, and his stubbornness has not yet shown.

The persistence of these people seems to border over the utmost limits of human endurance. We ride on the whole afternoon without halting again, in the parching heat. Legolas and I have drawn up our hoods over our heads for protection against the burning sun, following the example of the veiled humans.

The sun is sinking once again towards the horizon, when the men slow their mounts. Some of them hold their faces against the light warm wind, loosening their veils, revealing their strangely handsome features; noses slim and straight, over swung, full lips. Their eyes slightly unfocused, they inhale deeply the air brought by the breeze. They slightly adjust their direction to where the wind is coming from. What it brings to them, I cannot guess.

"I smell water," Legolas states after we have resumed our walk. He narrows his eyes, glancing over the hills, "and more; ...leather... coal... fire..." He turns his gaze to me, and graces me with bright eyes.

As we ride on further, I can smell it too.

The landscape has become more laboured. Groups and chains of rocks protrude here and there from the sand. A small stream, carrying sparse water, makes its irregular way through the rocky, hillocked landscape. Bushes and spots of long grass grow in the areas around the trickle of water that is the stream, spreading between the hills.

The camel-riders greet some shepherds clothed in their equal blue garments. They are leading a herd of those majestic beasts the same direction we go, slowly, returning to camp for the night.

The men exchange some words with the shepherds, who walk straight and proud at the pace of their animals.

We are close to our goal. I can feel the quiet excitement of the riders surrounding us. Imperceptibly they press on their steeds.

As we pass the edge of a vast rock-chain, simple red-brown tents appear, majestically shining in the orange light of sinking Anor. What a humbling sight.

Goats are grazing outside the camp. Children with tightly braided, raven hair run around between the tents, playing games. As they remark our approaching caravan, they run excitedly to welcome us. Their cheerful calls and laughter fills the cooling evening air. Their eyes grow huge and awed at the sight of us. They stare particularly at Legolas whose pale features glow ethereally in the peaceful light of dusk.

I see him smile at the eyes in the small, pretty faces, which shy away the moment they meet his friendly, shining blue ones, just to return in awe a breath later. They exchange murmurs and whispers and meaningful looks among themselves. Their features are bright with joy. Excitedly they chatter in the foreign language, as they run and jump beside our caravan.

At the border of the camp teenage boys take over the camels and our horses, leading them towards water to drink, and to feed from the sturdy bushes and the slight grass growing at its borders.

Amar leads us through the camp. We are followed by the rescued kids and the veiled woman who rode with us. The eyes of the inhabitants brush us curiously, though discreetly, while they go on with tranquility in their daily engagements; teenagers with long, raven hair, men with their turbans and veils, and women with light scarfs worn loose over their long, black tresses. The smaller children play among the tents.

Amar halts in front of a tent that looks in no way different from the others. He bends down and enters. His voice is barely audible as he softly speaks. An even softer woman's voice filters through the reddish goatskins. I steal a glance at Legolas. I am so glad to see him calm and straight beside me. As graceful as ever. I cannot believe that just earlier today my fingers clung to his pulse in fear. His wounds still need to be tended to, and I know that he hides his weariness, intent to defeat any weakness, his most hated enemy. But for now I let him be, there will be time to see to him later.

After a while Amar exits the tent, followed by a tall, slender woman. Her long, blue robe and scarf are embroidered with delicate silver ornaments. On both arms she wears beautifully engraved silver rings that tinkle with her movements. The hair showing under her scarf is silver streaked by age.

She looks at us with a calmness I have only seen by elves before; old elves, who have lived through ages. A sparkle lights her eyes as she acknowledges us, revealing a curiosity and happiness at our sight, of an intensity which only children usually possess.

Though the lines of human age carve her features, the beauty of her former youth is still visible in her golden face; her full lips, her slim nose with the small nostrils, her high cheekbones and her black, almond shaped eyes… they glint like raw, black jewels in the dimming light of sinking Anor.

A smile lights her face, warmly welcoming us. And then she turns her attention towards the veiled woman. The two slender figures move towards each other, their hand palms brush fleetingly, their gazes meet in silence, as if they read unspoken words in the other's eyes.

Then, the elder woman moves towards the children. She approaches each of them in her quiet, comforting way; glistening, black, diamond eyes speak healing into hurting children's eyes deprived of their innocence.

The two women lead the youths inside the tent. Amar waits with us, until the elder woman reappears in the entrance.

She rolls out an intricately decorated mat, and bids us sit down on it. Silence stretches out between us, before with an encouraging nod of her head, she bids Amar to speak.

Amar does so, his eyes low, never meeting her deep gaze. Only as he has finished, he dares glance at her. She answers with a nod of acceptance.

She starts speaking, her words addressed to me and Legolas, her gaze firmly resting on us. I listen, surprised and entranced at the same time, as the elvish words come over her lips in a voice soft and tender, warm and deep. I can see beside me Legolas' bright eyes grow wide.

"With hope I have foreseen your coming. Today is a good day," her eyes glint joyfully.

"The children you have rescued will need time," the same eyes sadden as she speaks, "time both we and the desert will give to them."

She pauses, and with the next breath she takes, a smile plays around her full lips, reaching her eyes, letting the guessed beauty of her younger days reappear.

"Legolas and Estel... my nephew has told me," her smile widens, "...like Beleg and Túrin."

I listen in astonishment to her words. And I can feel Legolas holding his breath beside me.

"Have you seen the people's eyes secretly following you, and the excitement of the children? - A beautiful friendship between a man and an elf! A tale brought to us as a gift by those wonderful beings who are the elves, who came through our lands, long ago, who had left their lands and gifted us with their friendship; a friendship that grew strong through the ages, and we treasure and sorely miss since the day they have left. We are honoured to welcome you in our midst, fair elf. And you bring us hope, Estel."

Her words sink deep into my soul, warming me from inside. Astoundment grows into fascination. She is an enigma in herself, and yet so very down to earth. I dare not ask the multitude of questions that surge within me through her words. Instead I bask in the steady calm of her person.

"The children you rescued will be reunited with their families in their camps, when their spirits are ready. And you may stay here with us, as long as you wish."

"Hannon-le, Lady of the Desert. Your hospitality is a precious gift to us. We will be glad to dwell with your people as long as Legolas needs to fully recover."

I cannot bring more than these words of gratitude and respect over my lips. The many questions in my mind will stay unasked and unanswered for the time being. I let them rest. It is simply comforting to be welcomed as unconditionally and as wholeheartedly as by these people in the deep, unknown desert of Harad.

Legolas shoots me a glare. I know it concerns the words I said about his health. I spoke of his injury he wants to hide and get over with. Though I meant what I said. We stay here until I deem him fully ready to leave. I will discuss it with him later. And I am prepared to insist.

The elder woman speaks some words to Amar, who still meets not her eyes. Then she rises and disappears to the inside of the tent.

Amar leads us to a tent close by.

"Here you may settle," he offers us, now speaking in broken elvish.

A smile shows around his almond eyes.

"I am her sister's son. She is _Taria_ ; woman of _Tar_ , the moon. Through the moon she sees what our eyes cannot behold. Our women can see through the moon, though what _she_ sees, nobody else does."

His eyes keep smiling, knowingly. He guessed my questions.

"We all know how to speak the elvish tongue," he answers one of them, "Our friendship with the elves has taught us, since the times of old. We learnt Westron as well, but latest only because of need, since we do dislike it. The men of the North, who come to our lands, are only enhancing evil; they twist and enslave, they come to abuse, to subdue, to murder," his voice darkens and finally silences.

"Now rest. I will have food and tea sent to you, and hot water and herbs to clean the wounds." And so he leaves.

After a simple meal with tastes to us unknown and interesting, I am determined to convince Legolas to let me have a look at him.

He suddenly looks pale and drawn in the dim lantern light. And at my bidding to remove his shirt he complies without objection. I frown, I was prepared to argue with him, and it worries me that he gives in so easily. It means that he is not as well as he wanted to make all believe.

I sigh deeply, "We have made it out of trouble once again, my friend."

Legolas seems too tired to answer. He just smiles. But then his face turns serious, and with a voice hoarse with fatigue mingled with sternness he bids me: "Aragorn, you let me appear weak in front of those humans. Please, do not do that again."

I answer not, but his bidding stings me in a strange way. He knows Amar and the riders have seen his wounding and his poor condition throughout the day. And he must sense at least as much as I that these are not a people to easily be deceived. So why pretending endless strength before them. Whom does he want to impress? What weakness does he want to hide? Does this irrational behaviour surge from the nearly relived nightmare of his past? But I answer not. I hope this will not last.

I remove the bandages. And I am more than glad that my stitches have held and the cuts are closing fast, supported by the remarkable healing properties of the elves. Despite this favourable fact, the injuries and the ordeal of the last days have gnawed at Legolas' strength, and even while I am still washing the healing wounds, he finally succumbs to a deep sleep.

He sleeps with his eyes closed, though, I worry not; after all that has happened it is not to wonder. I gently cradle his head into my lap, and cover the slender, injured body, to protect it from the desert-night's chill.

I silently watch his calm, soft features and I wish him peace, until weariness tugs at me and I lay myself down close to him. It is not long before sleep also claims me.

* * *

Muffled sounds of the awakening camp penetrate through the red skins. Legolas blinks into the tent's dimmed morning light.

"Why are you staring at me so?!" He reproaches with a frown, and aims an amicable shove, pushing me away from him. "I am feeling considerably better if you want to know. And now stop mothering me." He glares.

"Irritated after the long sleep, are we?!" I state tenderly mocking, and he ignores me. I guess he is fed up with feeling weak, it is weighing on his mood, and he decided to be done with it.

The sun warms us agreeably as we get out this early in the morning. Soon the searing heat of the desert's sun will hit with full brunt.

I feel the people's looks on us. Discreet, but I can say they are interested. I steal a sideways glance at Legolas, trying to sense how he copes. He keeps a straight face, and it is difficult for me to guess what goes on in his mind.

A small boy then rushes towards us, his raven locks bouncing about his small, excited face as he simply reaches for Legolas' hand, smiling openly at him. Positively surprised Legolas brightly returns the welcome smile. To me the small boy gestures with his tiny hand, waving to follow him. Like this he leads us, hopping lightly beside a joyful golden elf, hand in hand. Legolas turns to beam at me, and my heart feels suddenly lighter. For the moment my worries fall aside. So small a gesture from an innocent child it takes to turn his heart towards the light.

We reach a tent where a woman with a baby on her back is cooking over a small fire. As she sees the boy with us in tow her face gets bright, and she laughs, mirth dancing in her eyes. She offers us breakfast, that we accept gratefully; flat, steaming bread with goat meat and a pleasantly sweet, dried fruit. The boy's beaming, little face literally radiates in concurrence with Anor's rays, as we eat in company.

This day, we are led to several tents, by children and adults alike, to drink tea or eat the simple but delicious food in quiet, sunny company.

During the day, the people in the camp go after their daily engagements with a calm resolution that is rare to be seen amongst humans.

The children admire Legolas' bow and eagerly bid him to show them how to use it. He patiently takes his time showing them the art, despite his injuries that still must be aching. He lets his arrows sing, hitting the small flying targets thrown by enthusiastic kids. They find it more and more entertaining to increase the challenge, throwing the tiny objects with enhancing speed. The targets swish through the air at times simultaneously in a flurry. Legolas easily matches the children's game. Every arrow hits, every shot is stunning in its accuracy, agility and speed. He offers a show that captures the eyes of the people in the camp. His lean body, tall and strong, moves in lethal grace with the tensing and releasing bow. Nothing betrays his injuries as immersed in his passion as he is. The children stare at times open mouthed, at times they jump, excitedly clapping their hands and emitting small shouts of delight, and obviously each one wants to try.

With great joy I remark how Legolas relaxes more and more in the presence of the children. And in turn they lose their timidity around him. They squeak, they laugh, they run, they jump. And he laughs with them equally. His eyes are beaming. His cheeks flush with their infectious excitement.

I smile contentedly. I am so glad to see him like this once more; light hearted and light footed as he plays with them. He swirls a small girl through the air and she squeaks hilariously. A small boy is already pulling at his tunic to get his attention. The boy gasps as Legolas seizes him, and tosses him lightly up to recatch him securely in his strong arms. The boy laughs and gasps and laughs and gasps, as Legolas throws him repeatedly.

For a moment I worry if he is not over tiring himself. I am worried about his injuries. He seems to forget that he is still healing. But the longer I watch him, I think that he and I could take a bleeding wound again, in his side or in his shoulder, if in return, it is healing his heart.

He makes their little faces shine, and he too shines with rekindled joy. I love his laughter. I cannot get enough of it. I join to laugh and play with them. I am so glad I have him back. He is a shimmering star!

* * *

 **Many thanks to Ruiniel, always and again, for reading through this, and for her precious suggestions.**

* * *

 **Thank you for reading, and I would really appreciate any constructive feedback.**

 **Thanks to Rosenthorne and her comment on A03 I have changed the first part of the last chapter that was in Legolas 1st person into 2nd person telling. It was the only part in Legolas 1st person, as I was experimenting, but I'm glad for the remark and I also find it reads much better like this.**


	7. The Desert - Stories around a Fire

**My thanks go always to Ruiniel for dedicating her time to beta-read for me. I am so lucky to have you :)**

* * *

 **The Desert – Stories around a Fire**

The games with the children slowly quieted as they grew tired. After a thrilling, long and enlivening time they skipped to playing with stones in the sand. Legolas still participated in their games, but his gaze wandered sometimes to Aragorn, or his farther surroundings.

His attention drifted to a sturdy tree standing lonely in the sand near their playing ground. By all unnoticed he slid away, and greeted the lonesome plant. He could tell, that she was glad to welcome him. Her boughs swayed invitingly in the light, warm wind. He easily climbed up her gnarled, sturdy trunk disappearing between the dense crown. The tree tickled him with his innumerable tiny yet thick leaves. She stretched out her solid boughs as best she could to cradle him within. Snuggled up there, basking in the security so freely offered, the elf watched the camp from above. He caught a sight on Taria's tent, under whose protection the youths were recovering. For a long time he observed, lost in his musings.

Throughout the day women and men brought food and water to the tent. They softly announced their presence and they waited until the graceful figure of Taria exited the shade of the red tent and stood tall in front of them. As they spoke, Legolas remarked, how they avoided to look straight into the elder woman's eyes, keeping their gazes low, like Amar had done and explained the day before.

Legolas' heart skipped one beat as he recognized the woman approaching Taria's tent; the young woman who had journeyed with them on the black horse. She pulled her scarf up to cover her face as she approached. He could not catch her features.

She waited not long outside the tent before Taria appeared, slipping out into the bright light of the afternoon. Their palms brushed lightly, as the two slender figures stood straight, facing each other. Soft words in their foreign language they spoke. The young woman's eyes met Taria's, staring deeply into them...

She had not lowered her gaze!

Legolas wondered, but he could not guess as to the reason.

…and then she followed the elder woman into the tent.

The day had been hot, and the fresh evening breeze was most appreciated. Legolas inhaled deeply the slowly cooling air of the approaching night. He slid out of his musings and remembered that Aragorn must be wondering about his whereabouts. His gaze sought their tent, and there he was, speaking to Amar. He saw him shake his head and take a deep sigh. And next he walked towards the place they had been playing with the children. Legolas watched on amused as the ranger intently observed the ground. Was the Dunadan tracking him? He could not restrain a small ringing laughter, as Aragorn moved towards the tree, eyes glued to the ground before him. Legolas purposely moved and rustled between the leaves, and then popped his head down out of the leaved canopy. Aragorn looked up at him, both eyebrows lifted.

"I should have known where to look for a flighty wood elf without tracking him, so please do not say anything." He said grudgingly.

"You should have, I agree. But nevertheless, I admire your skills at tracking said elf, master ranger."

Aragorn rolled his eyes slightly and then joined his friend in his mild laughter. It was so good to see him like this, mirthful and with mischief about him.

As they returned to their tent, night had already fallen. It was impressive how fast the change from light to dark happened in the South.

Amar came to bid them join his people around the fire.

"Tonight will be a night of stories," he announced, "We love telling stories," he smiled, "stories with truth."

The men, women and youngsters who had gathered around the fire were silent, as if they had been waiting for them to begin.

Amar spoke first. He spoke in elvish, ever since the night before as Taria had astonished them using the grey tongue.

"It is an honour, Estel and Legolas, to have you in our circle."

Legolas could tell that Aragorn sorely failed to keep his curiosity at bay, needing to hear the whole story behind it; and so as the ranger spoke, the elf smiled.

"Dare I ask about your particular friendship with the elves?"

"You dare, my friend! And I will be glad to tell you the story:

They came from the North, long ago, ages ago…

I am speaking about a time deep in the past. The Taruen are a people persisting since the times of old. We do not count the days, we simply live into them, and we carry the treasures of the days of the past along with us in our stories.

…We - our people of that time that is - met the elves as they camped in the area further north, where the grassland loses into the desert. But the desert at that times was not yet as rough as it is today. Waterplaces were richly strewn over the land, and around them green life-jewels grew and our strength blossomed.

From the first meeting our friendship with those beings grew fast and strong. Their wisdom and deep relationship with nature and the universe was very similar to ours. They told us about the richness of the woods of the lands which they left, and we showed them the vastness of the desert, with those rare but rich, blooming jewels of the past.

Still they sorely missed and longed for the trees. They were determined to journey on, even if their journey would lead them through the harshest of waste lands.

Our warriors possessed a tough endurance. They were able to read the signs of life in the desert and survive its rough nature, even on long journeys through the dry land; as we still do. They accompanied the elves on their slow flow through those lands, offering them hospitality along the way in the nomadic encampments of our ancestors, until they reached the southern borders.

From there, their way led them into the forests of the South.

For a long time the Taruen resisted to the evil pressing south. But the foul army destroyed most of the rare and precious water supplies. Sadly, our people suffered too many losses through sicknesses and starvation, due to the lack of clean water. Our power declined, and we became scattered in small clans, struggling to survive as a free people, in the rough conditions of the desert.

The _Sirith, 'The Flowing'_ , how the elves called themselves, sustained us in our survival, sending supplies from the rich woods.

In the Sirith the Taruen had found allies with whom they shared much. We learned from each other, we joined in spirituality, and combined our healing knowledge and skills to accomplish great things."

Silence followed as Amar's throaty voice ebbed down. All the listeners were gazing into the fire, as if they saw those warriors in there;

Proud, blue-veiled camel riders, moving across the desert together with fair elves.

Their presence equally noble and graceful, their bodies tall and slender. The elves shining in their delicate, pale brightness, the humans' skins lightly tinged and their eyes deep black, and almond shaped;

So different and yet so similar in appearance.

It was as if everybody captured the same image in the fire.

Amar found his voice once more. It seemed even deeper now and tinged with heavy pensiveness.

"We have never believed the lie Sauron spread. We never did see death as a curse. It is part of life. Even the wind and the sand and the precious water in the desert are alive. We are listening to the elements and live in balance with everything around us. We are living in peace and respect with creation, as a part of it, never claiming our superiority. We know, that we are born into the world with a free spirit, no matter the pain and the challenges we will face. Our faith is unbroken to, one day, rejoin with Eru; a faith many humans have lost in their struggle and in the lies said to them.

The Sirith have encouraged us and strengthened us in our belief. Our friendship persisted until they left for their lands of light called The Undying Lands. We are sad about our separation, but we are equally happy, for they finally found the light they needed so deeply. It is an honour and a joy to have one of the Firstborn and a man named _Hope_ , here in our midst. Our friendship to you is forever granted."

Legolas felt not the need to say anything, the tale sunk quietly into him, raising more questions, but they required no answers right now. He even wondered if this all was real, or if they floated on a sandy sea of unreality, becoming unreal themselves. So strange it seemed to be. He glimpsed at Aragorn and remarked that his friend was equally caught in quiet fascination.

A young woman in the circle raised her eyes from the fire; the flames throwing flickering shades over her unveiled, smooth and straight features. She looked like a perfect statue as she fixed her eyes on Legolas and then moved them over to Aragorn.

"Please, tell us of your home, tell us stories of elves."

As she spoke in a calm, soft voice, her eyes glinted with expectation and excitement in the light of the fire, like the eyes of a child.

Legolas was shaken by her request and the way it was brought to them in an unveiled, direct and genuine way.

He would have liked to tell them about his home, about how once it had been. - About how the trees whispered to the elves and gently reached their branches towards them, about how they carried them and lifted them into their heights… about the song of the wood and its inhabitants with all its great and little wonders - About Eryn Galen...

His eyes glistened in melancholy, and he swallowed the sadness that wanted to overcome him, casting his eyes to the ground.

How could he tell them about the evil that was creeping into his beloved home? - About a majestic wood, that was slowly diminishing, about the songs of the trees and the birds that were violently muted... about elves constantly at war, about companions not returning from patrols, about searing battles, that were claiming way too many immortal lives...

How could he tell them?!

He could not.

These people were suffering, he could see it in their eyes. Malice claimed their lands. They survived, they struggled against the odds.

They needed hope.

Legolas slowly lifted his glistening blue eyes, to look at his friend. His lips quivered as he fought the grief.

* * *

Estel knew.

They needed hope.

He took a deep breath, drawing the fresh, nightly air of the desert deep into his lungs. His mind wandered far into the North. All eyes on him, he took them with him on his journey to his beloved valley.

He could hear the birds sing and the leaves on the trees rustle softly in the light breeze. The eyes were resting on him, wide in astonishment and awe, as he spoke of the breathtaking beauty of his beloved home; of houses where the wind blew through, and gardens where the plants smoothly mingle with artfully carved archways and fair elven architecture. And as he spoke about the water of the falls singing its constant melody while rushing all among the wholesome beauty, their eyes grew even wider, if this was possible.

Legolas squeezed Aragorn's shoulder gently as the man ceased speaking.

"It is so good to hear of elven home," he murmured, "And you have pictured it beautifully."

As he looked over the fire, on the other side, he saw a woman's eyes. The black eyes of the only woman who was wearing a veil. Her eyes were directed over the flames, as if she was looking at the picture the tale had evoked; looking at Imladris…

Or was she looking at him?

* * *

Estel was still immersed in his tale; and inevitably, with the image of home in his mind and heart, surfaced the longing for his father.

"And the heart of this wonderful place called Imladris is a wise Elf-Lord. He is gentle and fair. He sees more than one could guess, and he is a great healer and a loving father."

Aragorn sighed as the longing for home and his family tore at his heart. It enveloped him after the excitement of the events, in the peace of this night around the fire. - He just wanted to give Legolas enough time to recover, and then they would make straight for home. He craved that it would be soon.

Deep in thought Legolas' soft voice gently touched his awareness. His friend sang a melody, that came naturally, genuinely with the nightly breeze. It came lightly, carried from the forest of his home to the desert, where it painted the growing force of the trees and the rustling of green leaves in the song of the wind. Aragorn shivered by the beauty of the song and by the happiness he heard in his friend's voice.

"You give us hope. There is such beauty in the Lands far to the North. We are glad to hear that bright places still exist, and the fair beings are still dwelling in them," Amar's deep voice articulated what the eyes around them expressed.

"The Sirith carried the beauty of their woods in their hearts. It kept them alive. They could not have persisted in the dry vastness of the desert. Though, they understood how we could carry exactly the hidden depth of the apparently dry vastness in our hearts." Amar added with emotion.

* * *

A tall, graceful figure stepped out of the dark, slowly reaching the light of the flames cast by the fire. She stood proud and straight; Taria, the queen of the red tents.

Everybody kept quiet, sensing her strong presence.

Now Legolas understood why her eyes were deep and old, not like a human's eyes; old and deep like they had lived through ages. If he looked around at the people surrounding them, he recognized that their black eyes had a depth that held much more than a human's life's experiences and knowledge. Yet her eyes were old like they carried all their ancestors' knowledge and wisdom, passed from generation to generation - deeply valued and closely treasured, never lost.

She spoke, her voice rough and tender, coarse and soft, "The sand is not evil. The power causing it to creep forward and extinguish all of life is, but the sand itself is not. It has its own spirit. It is a rough spirit. We have learnt to live in alliance with it. The desert is a challenge, it tries one hard. It throws one back to the essentials, but it teaches one to value every small life, every drop of water, to value oneself and to value the other. It teaches us to listen closely, to see the hidden, to smell, to feel. It teaches us who we are deep inside. The desert is not our enemy, it is our ally. Part of Eru's creation, as we are. And we are part of the desert. We do not fear death, because we love life so deeply, that we see it even in death."

She took a seat around the fire. Her hand appeared from under her wide garment, holding an instrument; beautiful in its simplicity, bearing a single string tightened over a cucumber shell covered with an ornamented goat skin. She took the bow and gently stroked over the string as if she was caressing the instrument, making it sing.

It was the song of their ancestors, of the wisdom carried on over generations for ages; never forgotten, never lost. Legolas sensed the passing of ages it carried along, as it mingled with the air around them, and the immense multitude of the grains of sand beneath. And not least, it sang about the elves they met, and Taria's voice started speaking in her soft, dark tone, that penetrated deep into the soul.

"The Sirith finally built their dwelling between the rich woods of the Far South, partly stilling their longing. Only who has been there can fully comprehend what impact their realm could have on human senses. The plants and trees had slowly grown into beautifully carved, yet rough and wild shapes, by the simple touches of the gentle hands and minds of the elves. Interwoven, forming rooms, pillars, arches, steps, curtains and all with their roots, trunks, branches and leaves; ever growing, ever developing. Something for us, who are used to wide spaces, completely unknown, of another world - magic!

How different were they from us, and yet, how close were our hearts. Our souls were close and so were our bodies getting close, and from these alliances new lives were born, with both our blood flowing in their veins."

She looked at those present.

"Though, never did one of these children decide to live in our midst. Too strong was their bond between elves. They had parted from their kin in the North, solidly sealed together among their kind. It was like they did not have the choice to decide, since their longing would never have allowed them to part..."

Legolas cherished the company of those people, the music of the desert and the tales about elves unknown, now departed. Aragorn had sought his gaze more times, a multitude of feelings stirring in his eyes. At one point their hands had joined in quiet understanding and appreciation of sharing this night together, the two of them in the midst of a people, strange, unknown, yet warm and openhearted.

They stayed up long, looking into the fire, the flames reflecting every word they had heard; elves unnamed within the history of Middle-earth, images brought alive, accompanied by the song of the desert that played incessantly, long into the late night hours.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading, and any review would be much cherished. Stay well.**


	8. The Desert - Freedom

**Thank you Ruiniel, for being so patient with me, and always encouraging, especially with this chapter :)**

* * *

 **The Desert - Freedom**

The night brought healing sleep with it and Legolas awoke with new energy, his injuries mended particularly fast even for his elven body. He could clearly see and feel how glad Aragorn was about his greatly improved condition. His friend seemed light and joyful, his worried mien of the previous days gone _,_ no longer weighing on him.

As Amar entered their tent in the morning to bring them breakfast, Aragorn spoke to him: "We are overwhelmed by your hospitality and most grateful. As beautiful as the night around the fire in your company has been, the tales about the elves have fuelled our longing for home. We would depart as soon as possible, and that might already be tomorrow, if you allow."

Legolas felt a vague sting in the pit of his stomach at Aragorn's words. Yet, despite it, he shared his friend's longing. And so he added the truth of his own feelings regarding their return home, in hopes that the man would understand. "I fare much better, but I miss the woods, and we both long to see our families and friends we have not seen for a long time now. They might worry about our long absence."

Amar nodded in understanding. Finally, the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

"Then, my friends, this day and night we shall gather and let the splendour of our heritage flare, as an homage to you, and for the strength and the pride of our free people."

His eyes flickered.

After he left, the village slowly awoke, and everybody was soon busy with preparations for the event Amar had promised; food was being prepared on the fires, saddles were polished and decorated. The children were jumping and running amidst the joyful business, their eyes glinting with anticipation and excitement. They merrily made efforts to garner Legolas' and Aragorn's attention and involve them in their games for one last day. And their parents invited them to their tents to enjoy their company once more before evening came.

As dusk slowly fell over the desert, Amar bid Aragorn and Legolas follow him.

The people had exchanged their daily clothes with beautifully ornamented garments tinged in different shades of blue, and it made them appear as proud descendants of nobility. And yet, they were so simple and genuine in their bearing that their humility was striking.

A quiet, uplifting joy engulfed the camp. At its border the young men saddled their animals.

Legolas beamed at Aragorn brightly. The calm excitement of those people was infectious and he saw Aragorn's eyes gleam back at him with radiant silver light.

Amar led them solemnly to where the elders were seated in a semicircle around the fire. The youths they had rescued were protectively placed in their midst. There were mothers carrying their babies, and children playing in the vicinity.

The young women sat together at a close distance. Their oval faces shimmered golden, amber and olive in different tints with delicately swung noses, full lips and glinting almond eyes painted in black, enhancing their intensity. At first sight, their frames appeared fragile and shy. But then eyes full of passion, willpower and pride glinted in the warm light of eventide.

They talked excitedly and laughed among themselves as they were eyeing the men, boldness in their gazes _._ They wore beautifully ornamented scarfs slung loosely over their thick, raven hair.

Legolas' eyes wandered over the magnificent scene, seeking the slender figure who had invaded his mind and emotions. She was not among the young women. He would have recognized her. She seemed not to be present, and he felt that sting in the pit of his stomach again.

Just as Legolas was about to resignedly accept her absence, he saw a long, blue frame walk into the fray. Her back straight, she passed by the group of women, her beautifully ornamented scarf draped over her hair, in the same manner as the other females'.

She exchanged a few words with some of them, their conversation light and uplifted as far as the elf could tell from the other women's faces. Her face was the only one hidden from his sight as she stood with her back turned to him.

After a while she moved on towards the people sitting by the fire. She took her place close to the youths she had accompanied and protected after their flight from captivity, carefully pulling the end of her scarf over her mouth and nose as she turned.

Her features remained shielded from Legolas' eyes. He could not shake the feeling that she was purposely hiding from them, and he could not comprehend the reason why.

* * *

When the great drum began to pound, the dark silhouettes of the riders stood out sharply against the orange tinged sky. The men's eyes glinted in roguish smiles as they watched the young women, who began to clap their hands in rhythm to the drum.

The drum became alive, it breathed, and the desert quaked with its rhythm playing its own melody, its own rhythm.

The camels ran around the clapping and singing women, their necks lifted high, their footfalls melting into the beat of the drum; of the desert itself. The fringes decorating the saddles wafted and the silver ornaments flashed. They circled the singers. Colours and lights fused as they danced in the light of the fires.

The young women's solo voices deep and raw, smooth and soft, reflected those people's profundity and attachment to life, to the desert; expressing passion, suffering, pain and joy altogether. Their eyes flickered with excitement when the men alternately rode close, before taking distance once more in a jaunty sort of game.

It was all foreign, sensual and breathtaking. And Legolas saw how Aragorn was smiling quietly in amazement by his side. As he met his eyes, his friend gave him a mischievous, mirthful smile.

Legolas saw how a man took a run-up, and drove his mount to a swift flow, aiming precisely. He clutched his chosen woman's scarf, swiftly running off with an air of victory; the silky, ornamented fabric fluttering behind him akin to a flag. The women raised their voices, clapping their hands in elation. Encouraged by the act, two other men rode close and seized their women's scarfs, swiftly disappearing into the group of riders.

The women sang now in a chorus excitedly clapping their hands, with bold, laughing eyes. Legolas watched how they played with their scarfs and their hair.

And he saw how _she_ pulled her own scarf which threatened to fall, tighter. Her eyes flashed in the warm light of the fire. The sparks mirrored golden in their darkness. He could not breathe in his amazement.

They laughed and jested riotously.

Her eyes had little crinkles in the corners as she smiled, listened. But she stayed quiet, and somehow withdrawn, veiled. - The young woman with the piercing black eyes. - She had retired into the security of the circle of elders.

How could he have such feelings for her?!... She was barely more than a child to him, and he was supposed to see her that way. She had seen maybe twenty summers at most, considering there was not even summer nor winter in the desert and the Taruen were not counting the seasons.

But those eyes... those eyes were staring at him from behind the veil she never removed in their presence. **  
**

How could he allow the eyes of a youngster to affect him in such a manner?! ...

Yet, he could not avert his own gaze from hers.

They had a depth... not like the eyes of a human child, but more like those of Taria. Still there was something different to them: They bore a weariness he had seen in no human before.

Or was it merely his imagination?

She was openly staring at him, from behind the safety of her veil.

The cool night turned hot like the desert day in the heightening pulse of the great drum. Legolas felt his own pulse rise in excitement and passion, in a scene unreal, almost magic, reverberating with the beats of the desert.

* * *

Late at night, as the elders and the families with children had retired, the fires were still burning. The men who had seized a scarf held the beautiful cloths in their belts.

Slowly, more and more men and women disappeared from the light of the fires.

Legolas saw, how the young woman who first lost her scarf to the tough rider stood up and took her scarf-thief's hand, speaking to him some taunting words in their foreign language. His eyes glinting excitedly and somewhat shyly, he let her drag him along with her. Their soft, merry voices were still audible for the elf as they disappeared into the night, hand in hand.

Legolas was lost in a strange haze of brimming emotions as Amar's voice floated over into his awareness. The man explained to them the rules of the game, "If the woman wants her scarf back, she will have to use her charm, to convince the man to return it to her."

He smiled, holding his own prey as a young, golden-skinned woman walked up to him. Legolas saw Aragorn throwing him a meaningful look, grinning broadly as she dragged the young man with her into the night. Legolas grinned back at him, and he hoped his friend would not see the slightly embarrassed flush on his cheeks at the thoughts that accompanied these heated emotions.

The night-air was prickling with sensuality when the two friends retired to their tent.

Aragorn fell asleep immediately, while Legolas was still immersed in the unforgettable impressions of the latest events. Only slowly, and almost imperceptibly, he floated over the thin line of elvish dreams.

* * *

The soft light of a candle illuminated the inside of the red tent. Legolas blinked in the pleasant mist of sleep; confused, but secure in the cozy, warm candle-light.

He knew not where he was any longer.

He rolled his head sideways, seeking the inside of the smoothly lit tent with his gaze. Aragorn was there, deeply asleep beside him.

He recalled... the desert, the chilly night, the warm fire in the evening, stories of elves and trees, blue clothed people of _Tar..._ _Ithil_ , deep, dark almond eyes, and the air brimming with sensuality... the earth pounding with its melody.

This was a good dream...

Aragorn's deep, even breathing lulled him further into the calm mist of that dream, in the smooth, flickering light of the red tent.

Silence...

…silence of suspense, his tickled senses perceived.

A tension…

…when he felt a strange presence.

A blue veiled figure appeared in the opening of the red tent. Legolas held his breath, caught black eyes roaming through the inside of the tent, felt them locked on his sea-blue ones. The soft light of the candle danced in their darkness.

His own eyes widened as that dark gaze explored the smooth features of his face - shyly, hesitantly - drifting over his brow, his temple, gently feathering over the elegant arc of his cheekbone. His dark, long lashes fluttered. His lips parted, freeing a sensual sigh, as a soft touch appeared to brush over them like a gentle breeze. **  
**

Slowly, shyly, and forbidden, black eyes roamed down his delicate, smooth neck, causing him to roll his head back in breathless enjoyment. His breathing quickened. All his longing concerning her presence, those eyes, brimmed to the fore engulfing him in pure sensuality, ever soaring _._

Elegant, long fingers moved to hastily open the fastenings of his shirt.

 _What am I doing?!..._

Slender hands opened the shirt wider, revealing skin and taut muscle, exposing the perfection of him to that fiery gaze.

 _It does not matter... It is merely a dream..._

His chest was heaving with his rapid breathing. Those eyes went wide at the sight of the pale, slender body, lying naked and yearning. **  
**

 _This is... forbidden... She is... too young... should not… see..._

Those blue eyes were seeking the black ones, pleading. The tender, sensual lips silently screaming for their touch. His hands reached down and fidgeted to free his aching want from the restriction of his breeches, drawing the fabric down his legs. The chill of the desert night did not affect him. He felt warm...

 _So warm..._ **  
**

~.~.~

The presence behind the blue veil felt frozen by a longing impossible to restrain... her long, slender frame unable to move away...

 _How entrancing is the body of the elf, when he lies before you - an offering, bare and fair in his perfection, wanton and yearning for your touch, with flushed, parted lips wishing for yours - leaves you gasping for breath._

 _But your veil... your veil can not fall. You have to hide. But your eyes..._

 _…ebony eyes caressing alabaster skin._

~.~.~

Black eyes saw and they did what they were asked to. They trailed over the pale, soft skin. They traced the outline of a well-defined chest.

They pressed over his collarbone...

 _This dream... I cannot allow it..._ **  
**

They ran a fiery trail over his chest...

 _It matters not... No one will ever know. It is..._

 _A dream..._

And he gave in to it all, completely.

Nothing else mattered.

He felt her gaze tenderly pressing on the delicate flesh. Legolas gave himself over wholly, arching towards the surreal touch. A moan of pleasure escaped his flushed lips, his eyes shone with desire.

Her dark eyes fixed on his naked skin, saw the shivers of delight causing the slender, muscular body to tremble with thrilling heat. It was a dance, caressing the bared flesh of that perfect body, seeing the way he longed for it, the way he was pleading for more. Her gaze drew in the sheer beauty of his motions as he leaned into the touch, aching with need.

The ephemeral caress traced downward over the taut muscles of a flat abdomen, lower, caressing his heated groin, staring at the hardened evidence of his lust.

His heart was racing, the intense thrumming reverberating in his chest and pulsing through the air in flowing ripples. His breath shifted into pants, his hand reached to coil around his aroused hot flesh, stroking under breathy sighs.

Wanting blue eyes locked on burning black ones that were wide with longing as they watched him reach fulfillment. His beautiful, strong body rocked in rhythmical spasms. His chest trembled with the release of tension.

Her dark eyes, now wide as they gaped at him, still shimmering with an undefinable expression of longing and disbelief, suddenly shied away; as if caught in something forbidden.

 _…a dream, a forbidden dream, in a red desert tent, protected by a blue veil._

She disappeared with haste, leaving not a trace in her wake.

 _… Only a fantasy; a forbidden longing released under the blue veil of a dream._

The eyes of a youngling had touched aroused elven skin. Nobody would ever know, apart from his own self.

Still affected by the unusual happening Legolas pulled the cover over his body, the warmth of the nightly encounter yet fresh and vivid; he needed to keep it close.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading. And I was quite nervous about posting this chapter.**


	9. The Desert - Farewell

**Thank you! to Ruiniel who never tires to help me with the words :)**

* * *

 **The Desert - Farewell**

The sun rose golden once again into the desert morning.

When Legolas awoke in the red tent, Aragorn was already up, smiling at him.

"How do you feel today, my friend? Is this the day we depart towards home?"

Legolas blinked confusedly, still enveloped in the light cover. It was unusual for the elf to sleep longer than his human friend. He felt Aragorn's deep longing and joyful anticipation in his voice, and he knew his body had recovered enough for the journey. He missed home as much as the man did. But he was reluctant to release the cover, as though afraid of losing something wrapped around him; the warmth he had captured last night…

…a dream that would be set free and could fly away, vanish, never to be recalled. That thought made something tighten painfully in his chest and throat.

Still, the elf was physically ready to leave, and he could not disappoint the joy of his friend's heart with something his mind was forbidding him to consider anymore.

"Yes Estel. This is a good day to turn towards home," he replied. Trying to swallow the lump in his throat, he smiled back at Aragorn reassuringly. The sharp sting in the pit of his stomach then took him unawares.

Aragorn observed him intently, tilting his head, slightly frowning. "Are you feeling well Legolas?" He asked with concern.

Legolas averted his eyes, pretending to watch the sunlight breaking through the sutures between the goatskins, and then with his fingers he traced the lines of light falling on the blanket.

"We are going home! How could I not be fine…" he said almost too lightly.

In reality he avoided his friend's gaze, so that his eyes would not betray the lie.

Aragorn's eyes narrowed slightly, disbelievingly, but he seemed to decide to let it be, and Legolas was more than relieved for it.

Word had spread in the camp that the elf and the ranger would leave that same day. The people came to bring them provisions for the long journey as they prepared their horses. Amar and some of his warriors would escort them to the northern borders of the dry land.

"We are a people talking to the stones, the sand, the trees and the waters. The sky and the earth are singing an eternal melody to us. The earth is the instrument and the wind coaxes from her surface the tunes of her song. It carries so much with it; stories of the past and the future and the life of the present. We have learnt to listen to it. I know you can hear it too.

The desert does not allow any forbearance. It kills those who want to overcome it, or who do not know or hear its melody. It is dangerous.

The people spinning the nets of evil in these lands, the orcs and other foul creatures, they do not venture into the deep, dry land. They cannot survive. They have their routes. We know their paths, and we know how to move unseen to their eyes. It is our duty to guide you, until you reach more familiar surroundings."

A tall, slender figure moved out of the group of humans who had come to bid the travellers farewell. Her appearance was as simple as she lived; her majestic walk, her grace, made her stand out as a lucent queen - _Taria_ \- mirroring the simplicity and the beauty of those people, proud and humble at the same time. Her voice sounded soft and warm, bold and powerful.

"Estel, the hope of all humans, of the Lands of the North as well as the South and the East... We are all depending on hope… hope to preserve our freedom, the beauty of our lands!"

Legolas observed Aragorn absorbing her encouraging words gratefully. He felt how important this encounter had been on his friend's way to his destiny. He meant hope to people far beyond the borders of Middle-earth, and it touched him deeply to hear it so clearly pronounced. He was so very proud of Aragorn, and once more he knew deep within that he would sustain him to the end.

While the elder woman spoke, Legolas could not help but notice another willowy figure standing out among the people who had come to see them off. He felt her presence and sensed her eyes on him; those eyes embedded in light amber skin, in a face hiding behind a veil, deep black with unveiled passion in their depths…

…how could these be the eyes of a child?!

Oh Elbereth! It was not right! It could not be... An elven prince longing for the touch of a youngling...

And yet, nothing aided in denying the truth.

He had to banish, to deny it. There was no way for a Sinda prince to feel such. It was unbefitting.

Denial he forced upon himself, but longing pierced, burned. Those eyes pierced, longed, demanded... and shied.

How could he banish her from his mind, her eyes that were transforming shame into delight, with the fascinating colour of their deep darkness...?!

They greeted the Taruen in the greeting of the elves, bringing their hands to their hearts and sweeping them off towards them.

Legolas' heart threatened to burst, so wildly was it beating as he mounted his horse and they turned their backs on the camp, heading for the open desert.

It was a long journey, leading them slowly away from an almost magic, unreal world, towards home; towards the forests and the people they loved and missed.

As Amar had promised, they met no evil on their way, and even as they parted from their new friends, their journey went on swift and uneventfully.

* * *

 _(Aragorn POV)_

Finally we reach the ravaged forests of Ithilien. The desert is already far behind us.

Almost hastily, as if he had been waiting for this amongst all things, Legolas leaves his horse and disappears between the trees, climbing to their heights. Many of them are touched by the shadows of evil, but many are still steadfast and strong, standing against the fell powers. They are growing witnesses of hope and resistance. He seeks them out, and greets them, leaping through their boughs. They seem to eagerly welcome him. They reach out for him as he swirls through their thick, leaved canopy. Softly rustling and whispering leaves move to brush him, to get the slightest touch of him. He is like a flash of golden energy reviving. **  
**

He has been silent the whole journey across the dry land. Silent and disconcertingly distant. Strange beyond his natural strangeness – oddly detached. He would not speak to me of it, nor of anything else.

And now as we have reached the trees he retires into them. In their midst he releases whatever troubles him. For some time he seems free. A whirlwind of life. I imagine he could not find the words to tell me. At times it is easier for him to speak to the trees. They tame his energy, and soothe whatever reason it is that makes him behave like this. He speaks to them without words; they feel him, they take the burdens away from him, and most important of all - they leave him be.

I have learnt as well to let him have his ways. But I am not a tree. So in this moment he seems to need them, not me. He gives to them, and they give him what he needs in return.

He knows I am here, whenever he decides to share with me. I ride amidst the trunks of the giants growing in this still breathtaking forest, heading constantly towards home, and I can hear him softly follow the same way above me, through the greenery.

At times I see him appear between the boughs. A bright ray of light among dark leaves. In the next breath he disappears with a supple swishing between the thicket. And then again he moves completely silent, and I cannot guess if he is still up above me.

Immersed in my pondering, I remark, that Gwedal has stopped walking behind me. I hesitate, alerted, and turn towards the stubborn white mare. She shakes her head and snorts, but refuses to follow. I turn back and reach her, looking out for her fluttery master. And there I see him, not far above her, leaning into a gnarled bough of an old tree, embraced by its leaves, almost hidden. The tree is thick and tall and old, but the leaves are young and tender, strikingly fair in their fresh, light green. They are all around him, growing from young, thin sprays, eagerly surrounding him. There is a light breeze that softly stirs his hair and the leaves around him, making them melt into a tangle of gold and green.

I ride closer, and from this angle I see his face. His gaze is distant, directed southwards. I feel the urge to call him to me. I am not a tree, so I cannot simply let him be all the time.

"Legolas?" I call his name and say nothing more. For a few long breaths he does not react. But as I am about to ask again he speaks, not moving his gaze nor shifting his position in the slightest.

"The desert has affected me strangely."

It is almost a whisper, hesitant and hoarse. It is the first thing he says in a long time, and his voice is coarse from the long silence. It is strange and guarded, as if he almost dared not say it.

I am so glad to finally hear him speak to me, that I immediately offer a reply, giving voice to my own feelings regarding the subject.

"I feel that also, my friend. Those people are stunning. I have discovered what I had never expected to find in those lands. I see it all now with completely new eyes. And I am glad I had a chance to partake in this amazing experience."

My thoughts drift to our farewell scene and the hope those seeing eyes bestowed onto me. And I feel strengthened to face whatever may lie ahead on my path.

But Legolas continues to stare southwards, his gaze distant. Not a word does he speak again. No reaction to my own words. I crease my brow, yet I wait patiently. This trait I have learnt from the elves, and from him to an even higher degree.

It is only after a long time that he detangles from the branches and leaves, and springs down from the tree, landing softly beside Gwedal.

His gaze is still lost in the distance. I know not where he really is, certainly not here with me as we ride on together. I guide Baradhroch close to Gwedal. Their flanks brush, my leg touches his. His gaze is pulled towards me and he smiles at me brightly and intensely. For some breaths I have the impression he is back, but soon his gaze is lost again in the same unknown distance.

My heart glows with serenity as we get ever closer to my home. Here it lies, my protected sanctuary, spread out before me - peaceful and quiet, almost free from any outward threat. After all we have seen, it feels almost unreal, an oasis of security and peace and welcome, warming familiarity.

It is as if Legolas' whole being begins to glow brightly at the pace of my heart. His features soften at the birds' welcoming songs, and he joins their calls humming a cheering melody. He no longer casts those strange, lost looks towards the South. I am so glad he is finally arriving home together with me. I know that to him, this healing place is ever a soothing reprieve.

And then I suddenly behold from the distance, flashes of silver between broad trunks; two tall, slender figures, their grey cloaks shimmering solemnly as they flow towards us between the calm, steady trees of Imladris, their silky raven hair streaming behind them in the slight wind.

Before my mind can get hold of the happenings I am drawn into an overwhelming embrace. I am tenderly crushed by the familiar warmth of two strong bodies holding me close; Elladan and Elrohir, my brothers, my family, how badly have I missed them!

Legolas is still quietly singing. I can hear the joy in his voice as he watches us, and my spirit soars in delight. His laughter rings bright as he greets my brothers. I am so glad we share this special moment.

The joy in this ever beautiful valley shines from the trees and the springing water, radiates from my loved ones' faces as we walk together, our faithful horses in tow. We travel towards the Last Homely House where my father anxiously awaits me, having hoped for my safe return. Light streams across his drawn features, smoothing out the creases that worry and fear of loss have painted once more on his ancient yet ageless face.

"I am glad to see you are both well this time, riding and walking using your own strength." my Adar jests affectionately, and I can only guess the magnitude of his relief. It is now his turn to crush me fondly against him.

There is a long story to tell, but for now I am simply happy to be home, and more than anything I wish to bask in the company of the ones I most love.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed.  
**


	10. Imladris - Fallen Leaves

**The next 4 chapters are still pre-LotR, playing some few years after _The Desert_ and before Aragorn lends his services to Rohan and Gondor as Thorongil.**

* * *

 **Imladris – Fallen Leaves**

It was a bright autumn day. The trees around Imladris held their golden and purple leaves, not willing to renounce them to the soil just yet. The wood seemed to enjoy its own beauty, warmed by the rays of the afternoon sun. Now and then, the soft breeze blowing through the trees was allowed to carry some of the glimmering leaves away.

Making little sound, save for the soft rustling of the fallen foliage its hooves stirred, a tall, black horse made its way into the peaceful valley. It carried a hooded figure, whose light silver-grey cloak was softly blowing in the wind.

Estel enjoyed the golden tinged woods surrounding his home, together with his brothers Elladan and Elrohir.

The days the sons of Elrond, Lord of Imladris, spent together, hearts light, eyes dancing with mirth, were precious and rare as of late. This radiant afternoon they were merely striding through the wood, running after each other, shouting and laughing, diving into the piles of golden-red foliage that fringed the path leading to their home. No onlooker would be able to tell the two identical twins were elves who had seen hundreds, even thousands of autumns; nor that he, the young human, was a leader among the rangers of the north, skilled in reading nearly indiscernible signs of tracks at first sight. No, they would have taken them for youngsters romping about, enjoying one of their first few autumn days in their lives. But he did not mind what others might think; he would cherish these times and carry them well treasured inside through battle and hardship. Their mirth was sparkling between the golden and purple trees, colouring the air in the same tint as the gleaming leaves.

Busy with their games, the brothers did not notice the horse and its rider approach. They were making far too much noise for their ears to pay attention to the soft rustling of the horse's footfalls. Just as the creatures appeared between the closest group of trees, it caught the brothers' attention.

They silenced and froze in place, staring at the sudden appearance of the deep-black horse. Their eyes moved up to the slender, hooded figure in surprise before exchanging questioning glances among themselves.

How had these creatures appeared so silently, seemingly out of nowhere? Estel wondered with uneasy concern.

But very soon he relaxed, since despite the suddenness, he did not perceive the beings as a danger. And neither did his brothers, he remarked, as they silently kept staring at the rider.

Sad, weary eyes gazed at them from horseback. There was something heavy and depressive about that unknown creature. Its face was shaded by the deep hanging hood, the collar worn high.

As it continued to keep silent and did not move its shaded eyes from them, Estel felt Elladan stir beside him. As the eldest of the brothers he took up his duty; voice confident and steady, he spoke to the rider in the common tongue: "Where do you come from, and what brings you this way, stranger? May we be of help?"

To Estel's surprise the hooded rider lowered its head watching the forest floor, as if it could not withstand the brothers' gazes anymore, "I came to search for the Lord of this valley..." a soft, female voice answered.

She faltered, insecurity wavering in her voice, as if unsure if she could reveal the reason of her presence in this place to these elves and the human. Though, after a short silence and an undefinable look of recognition at Estel, she seemed to overcome her fear.

As if choosing possibly non-compromising words and, Estel noticed, avoiding to give the requested information about herself, she slowly concluded: "...he… is known to be wise, and… his counsel highly counted."

She spoke in fluent elvish, though with a heavy, unfamiliar accent, leaving some consonants out and strangely emphasizing others.

"Mae-govannen, my Lady," Elrohir answered politely, concealing his surprise at her unexpected voice and words, "We will be glad to lead you to our father. We are always bound to welcome one who sincerely seeks retreat and counsel within the protected borders of this valley."

The sad eyes slightly widened in awe.

"Hannon-le, my Lords," she answered inclining hear head, and easily dismounted her steed.

Estel felt the sad weariness that enveloped her, unerringly sweep over him and his brothers. The mirth of the sunny day had abated in her presence, and so they walked the whole way to the Last Homely House in silence. The air hung mutely, thick and heavy between them. The only sound that reached his ears was the rustling of the autumn leaves under their feet.

When they were entering the elven dwelling, he observed her falter under the great stone arch, her slender body tensing perceptibly. Something resembling fear flared up in her widening eyes.

Estel had never seen anybody coming to Imladris to be afraid at the sight of it. He did not know a place more peaceful and soothing anywhere in Middle-earth. He could not guess what confused feelings were warring behind those deep black eyes, barring even the peace of the most beautiful place in Middle-earth from her heart.

"We have a visitor, please call Adar and bring the horse to the stables," Elrohir politely bid the trusted guard who received them at the entrance.

She still had not removed her hood, and at the bidding she reached to touch her horse, moving closer to it, startled, afraid, seeking its protection.

"Please, my horse is not to be locked in!" She spoke out almost harshly, in a hoarse voice. Even as she spoke, she flinched, as if her own words had startled her, and dark eyes glanced shyly at Elrohir from under the hood.

"Oh. It... it is not obligatory, if you wish otherwise… forgive me," Elrohir answered gently. Estel could tell he looked quite confused at her unexpected refusal, he had certainly not meant to press her.

* * *

She stared to the ground, thoroughly ashamed of her own reaction.

Had she been indecent or even rude? Valar forbid, she had not intended to make it sound that way.

Though, it was a fact that she would never keep her horse trapped into a stable, and besides, she was not prepared for it to leave her side just yet. She felt too insecure, too vulnerable.

What if the Lord of Imladris would reject her as soon as he got to know who she was and where she was coming from?

She had been told her kin might not be well-seen among the elves in Middle-earth. They had sundered, too close to humans had they got, they had mingled with them, broken unwritten rules and assumed a new identity.

In that very moment she wished she could just disappear. All the courage it had taken her to ride to this place, left her within the blink of an eye. Her knees went week, threatening to give up supporting her any longer. Her own rushing breathing and the rapid hammering of her heart became deafeningly loud in her ears. She saw the elves around her exchange words. The sounds all melted together, reverberating and rendering it impossible to make out what the words said. Her hood and her horse; the only protection from the outside world.

If only they would not notice her terrified confusion, she hoped.

She tried hard to calm down her breathing and concentrate on not fainting.

To collapse at their feet would be embarrassing to no end.

And then he appeared, the ancient Lord of Imladris, walking down the steps into the yard. His calm composure betrayed every bit the noble Lord he was. His grey eyes were directed towards the new arrival, a slight smile was smoothing his severe features, showing his warmhearted nature. He acknowledged his sons nodding slightly at them, his gaze soft with gentleness. And then he turned, fully facing her.

"Mae-govannen, young Lady. I am Lord Elrond of Imladris and you are most welcome in this home," he said in a firm, friendly voice.

He added no questions about where she was coming from, or who she was. He simply welcomed her, and she was incredibly grateful therefore. A heavy weight fell off her heart.

That was when she remembered that she was still hiding under her hood, and that it might look quite impolite and reserved. Now, that her greatest fear was appeased, she warily lowered the hood and revealed long, dark locks and gracefully pointed ears.

She heard Estel sofly gasp beside her, and she noted that the twin elves' lips parted and their eyes slightly widened simultaneously.

She forced herself to ignore their reactions and instead focused wholly on the calm, and thoroughly unshaken, ancient elf.

"Well-met, my Lord," she started with slightly more confidence, "I am Mîaddar from - I... I came a long way to seek for your counsel." Her eyes glanced shyly into the ones of the elf lord, before sweeping off to the ground, unable to hide her insecurity.

In a calm and steady voice, Elrond answered: "It is an honour to have a guest who took such a long way to reach this House. May you get settled and refreshed, and find the peace you require. Take all the time that you need, and when your heart desires, you may come and find me."

She redirected her gaze onto him as he spoke. His eyes looked warm and friendly, as if he knew about her discomfort and wished to put her at ease.

"Elrohir will show you to the guestroom."

"Gratitude, my Lord," she thanked in a low voice, and with a slight nod of her head, hand to her heart.

She gently patted the black horse's neck, whispering into its ear. The beast snorted softly and then turned abruptly, leaving swiftly through the stony arch. Her gaze followed the elegant creature intently until it was out of sight. The horse's swift footfalls were still audible for some breaths, before they were lost into the constant rushing of the water and the slight wind that was gently culling the leaves from the trees.

The brothers exchanged stunned glances.

Elrond left the scene showing no sign of surprise.

She took a few steadying breaths before Elrohir gently bid her to follow him.

* * *

 _(Estel)_

She moves mainly unnoticed, our unusual guest. At times she can be spotted on the balcony watching the quiet valley stretching out before her. From time to time she is seen in the hallway as she leaves the house and disappears between the trees into the wood. The neighing of a horse can be heard then from the woodside.

She does not speak unless to answer a question addressed directly to her, and her eyes will casually sweep to the ground while answering. Her answers are curt but polite. I have observed Glorfindel wanting to engage her in talk, but our great, golden warrior seems to scare her the most. Her dark eyes just glimpsed at him once and from the slight parting of her lips I can say that she gifted him with barely some few words.

She is going unnoticed, yes, but not to me, and not to my brothers. She carried a strange shadow into our home and our days, and it lingers with her presence. I can sense a wisp of shade clouding Elladan's and Elrohir's fine features, a soft, melancholic weight on their souls. The signs that show when they slip into painfully reminiscing the sailing of their mother, and the agonizing time of her suffering leading to that unavoidable parting.

Since I am with them, since my childhood that is, they say that my presence has healed them. And when they say it, they smile fondly, affectionately and genuinely at me. Even now that I am longtime an adult and matured, I feel like that well-loved and cared-for child I have been, when they say so to me, as they love to remind me at times.

And I love it when our mirth and laughter fill the air, as we are again united in our beloved home. That is the way of our peaceful autumn days together once more; hunting trips, games, jests, tales in the evenings in the Hall of Fire. We were enjoying our time together in full breaths… before she came and brought with her this lingering shadow. And I resent her for this.

The Valar know how badly I need these precious reprieves in the safety of my loved ones to face the trials which still lie plenty before me. A leader of the rangers of the North I am, and I fully come up to this duty. I give my best. But I could never do all that I do without their support, and the good times we share. And I know they need that joy too. That lightness in these heavy days we all face outside. This is my sacred valley and our much cherished time together... and she has lain a shade over it. Oh yes, I _do_ resent her.

I puff out the smoke. The pipe lies comfortably in my hand. I usually do not smoke when I am at home, since my brothers and the elves around me are disturbed by the smell of the weed. But today I retired alone, further away from the borders of our dwelling and from any crumpling nose.

I retired to muse about the odd behaviour of our guest, about love and joy between brothers, and the unbidden shade upon my sanctuary.

I think of Ada, and that he seems not affected by it. Not the slightest. He is calm as he mostly appears to me. He is my rock; steady and strong. But does he not sense the shadow, does he not worry?

More questions roll over and over, and challenge me as I inhale and puff out the smoke repeatedly. Am I being unfair to resent her? What is she really carrying? I know nothing of her. Am I being selfish, wanting to keep the healing of the valley for us alone?

* * *

 **Thanks for the new follows :)**

 **And always to Ruiniel for her great work in beta-reading.**


	11. Imladris - Heavy Burdens

**Imladris – Heavy Burdens**

The finely carved ornaments, arcs and shivering leaves of wildly entwining, yet gracefully tamed plants shimmered in the pearly light of the full moon. Caught in deep stupor she was. This place was beautiful indeed.

Her feet carried her aimlessly through the open rooms and corridors of the airy house. Wisps of memories softly brushed her mind, of familiar plants, wild and tamed alike. She floated on them, retrieving all the security she could capture.

Suddenly, somewhere before her on the ground, shards of the finest steel flashed and unavoidably seized her gaze. The elleth stared at the shattered sword carefully lain out on white cloth. For a moment she stood unmoving, watching the young human kneel by the blade remnants. As if deep in thought, he lifted his eyes and met hers. Briefly she saw a warm flame in them, and at the same time, under the light of the moon his eyes shone silver and bright. But as soon as he recognized her, he lowered his gaze and quickly wrapped the sword in the linen.

The next time he looked at her he sighed, and appeared once more as merely the young human, whom she had seen talking and laughing with his brothers in the house or striding through the wilds. And yet she knew there was more to him than reached the eye. The elleth felt as if she had snatched a secret from him he might not have been ready to reveal to a stranger such as her. He was young, so inconceivably much younger than she, and yet in his voice there was the strength of someone who carried on his shoulders a responsibility unfathomable, and he carried it well.

She could have run away again, like a thief, with the glimpse she had seized. - She did not.

Instead the elleth apologized, "I did not mean to pry, forgive me." She flinched as her voice came out shaking and croaked.

He looked at her gravely and with near skepticism, as if considering his next action or words. She held her breath. To her immense relief his serious gaze softened. "Worry not, I believe you." And then he graced her with a sparkling, silvery smile. "We all have a story which weighs on our lives."

She knew not what to say. These few words washed over her like a wave, a gentle, warm wave that for a fleeting moment made her feel less lonely. She released the air from her lungs in a long freeing rush. He could have resented her. And yet he did not…? - He encouraged her, dispelling her fear.

There was a brightness about this young man...

A friendly and inviting atmosphere lay upon the house and the striking diversity of its inhabitants; a soothing and welcoming spirit. She felt it sweep through the whole valley. She had closed it out for fear, but more and more it sought its way to seep into her. A place where she felt that elven and mannish history mingled so intricately, even if she did not yet know how this could be. - She had not thought such a thing existed in the Northern Lands.

The elleth tried a hesitant smile that barely reached her eyes, and turned on her heel to silently retreat. This unexpected encounter had shaken her, and she knew not yet how to react or even sort her feelings.

* * *

For a while now, the old and wise elf lord spent every evening in the Hall of Fire, even alone, allowing his thoughts to wander waywardly.

Was he waiting for something? - No…

…he was at peace once more, at peace with himself. His sons were close. He had time, serenity and love to give, to them and to another young one, who had arrived in his home.

He was well aware of the shadow that hung heavily about her, but he had faith in the ways and the patience of his valley.

He would not press her. He would let her be.

As she had found her way to the Last Homely House, she would find the way to seek for its Lord when the time was right.

* * *

That night a pair of black eyes glanced shyly into the Great Hall of Fire, where the lambent flames created a pleasantly warming atmosphere. Silent feet approached the elf lord where he was seated, watching the merry sparkling of the flames, and a slender figure gracefully found her place beside him.

They remained so, silently watching the fire.

Finally the elf lord turned his gaze towards Mîaddar, inviting her to say whatever burdened her heart, since he sensed her reluctance, and at the same time, her need to share.

"Do not fear, young one. Do what you came for. I know not who you are or where you hail from, but know I would never reject you based on such. So do not fear, because fear only binds you and leads you astray."

A sigh so deep freed a constricted chest, and Mîaddar began to speak, slowly, hesitantly.

"This... is the first time after many years, that I am in elven company again. I came... all the way from the South, deep Far Harad. I am an elf of the South... a _Sirith_. All of my kin have left. I... I do feel alone."

It was out! - She had said it, that which she had dreaded to reveal.

Out of the corner of her eyes she cast a glimpse at the elf lord, whose gaze was resting on her, filled with calm and peace, encouraging her to continue.

Comforted by his acceptance, she went on with more confidence. She did not know what he knew about her kin. She told him of their history, how it had been carried on to her, from the perspective of her people: The true history of the _Sirith_.

A history starting in the first Age, when young elves of Beleriand heard about the light of the Undying Lands. Young elves, driven by the idealism and the enthusiasm of youth, sundered from the realm and heritage they upheld; united in one common quest. They wished to find a new way of life, a new place, where they would be free of the bonds they felt constricting them, holding them back from their internal growth in their immortal lives. They longed to be as close as possible with Eru's creation, seeking for enlightenment on Arda, before one day, when the time would come, once and for all to sail to those Lands of Light.

They had begun their journey, right after Beleg Cúthalion left the Kingdom of Doriath to stay with his best friend Túrin Turambar. They had admired the fierce, elven Captain for the deep friendship, love and loyalty to his human friend which he carried in his heart, for he had always stayed true to himself and others. Strong, bold and free; he was the idol of their youth. He had left the kingdom following the call of his spirit. And so too, would they follow their hearts' call. His story they had taken with on their journey, and not forgotten over the Ages.

Their families had to let them go, willing or unwilling. The spare contact they kept, sending word to their closest ones through envoys, diminished more and more. The departed elves found that they were merely considered rebels; not understood and not respected. Their connection and closeness with humans had even built a fierce rejection by their former kin. The contact was severed entirely after the fall of Doriath.

The _Sirith-said_ _'flowing on their own'_ , they were called in the kingdom they left behind, or simply the _Sirith, 'the flowing'_ , they called themselves.

Maybe they were rebels to the outside eye. But in their own eyes, they were united in one important quest, which was worth leaving all else behind.

Getting passionate in the tale, in memory of her own people, encouraged by the quiet listener, her tongue loosened more and more, and she told Elrond about the moon and the stars on the desert sky, about its people, whom the Sirith had come to respect and appreciate, and about the rich forests of the South that had been their home, where she was born and to where her heart still belonged. She praised the majestic trees and their beauty they had so readily lent to the elves, the fair folk they had enjoyed to welcome and harbour under their rich canopy.

The elf lord listened to her, and even when she silenced, he did not speak. They just sat into the late night, gazing into the sparkling flames. The flickering between light and shades, cast by the fires, was playing in the Great Hall and on their faces, until tiredness overcame Mîaddar and she silently left. Elrond stayed for some more time, drifting on his thoughts, before he also retired to his chambers.

* * *

The next day something had changed in her behaviour. Mîaddar appeared less shy, or at least, no longer afraid. She did not lower her gaze anymore as soon as she met somebody in the hallway or in the garden. Not even the Lord Glorfindel. She rushed no more through the corridors as if wanting to hide, or to avoid meeting anybody. She moved more freely in the house and in the gardens. She seemed more at ease. Though the sadness in her eyes, sometimes gazing through everything and at nothing at all, was ever present. Alone she still chose to be all day and night.

Estel decided that he had been unfair in his thoughts towards her. In their nightly encounter he had seen sincere hope and need in her eyes. And so he resolved he would do something to beckon her out of her sadness. He went to the kitchen, packed two honeycakes into a towel which he flung into his pack.

He pursued the way out of the house and farther away towards the border of the Imladris woods. He had found out during outings with his brothers, that she liked to climb the old beech whose trunk was immensely broad compared to the others, her mighty boughs intricately entwining and reaching out in all directions. Her dense foliage lent shade and shelter and even now that the leaves were fated to fall, she determinedly held on to her beautiful bright colour of the sinking sun.

There the elleth spent most of her time, high up in the branches. Estel settled at the base of the giant tree, his back leaning against her mighty trunk, and waited. There was no sound in the tree except the soft, steady rushing of the light breeze stirring the sunlit leaves.

The scrabbling of a squirrel who moved swiftly from a low branch towards the tree's middle, suddenly caught his attention. The creature just stopped to grace him with the blink of a black, beady eye and then in a flash of reddish-brown fur, it disappeared into a slim burrow in the wood.

Estel laughed softly to himself, as he thought of how it would be easier to feed the honeycake to the squirrel than to the other creature up there. He knew not how it had come to him, that they could possibly share this afternoon refreshment. How could he offer it to her, if he was not even sure she was up the tree? He had felt guilty for his thoughts towards her, and wanted to make amends. But what if she wished not for his company? That could actually be the reason for her complete silence. He knew that if their visitor was there, she surely must have sensed him. Discouraged Estel sighed, and reluctantly gave up his intent. Still he left the small cake on a low branch, just in case she might appreciate a pastry.

He ate his own cake on his way home, and he wondered if she had been there, and if in this moment she would bite into the sweet as he did. He pondered on whether he should have tried harder, and not given up before even attempting to call on her. He had to try harder.

The following day Estel convinced his brothers for an afternoon tea and sweets under the old beech.

"These days are bright and beautiful outside. Let us enjoy them as long as they last," Elrohir agreed with a radiant smile.

"Then let us be off right now. I fetch a basket with cakes and you prepare and add the tea. What say you?" Elladan suggested.

And so they did. Soon they were out on their way to the beech. Their spirits were light, brightened by the warm rays of Anor as they walked and talked in brotherly closeness.

"What a day!" Elrohir said, and climbed up the tree to a good level. Estel held his breath as Elladan followed. He wondered if she was up there.

The squirrel he had made his acquaintance with the day before came scrambling and leaping from branch to branch to retire into his burrow in the tree, after curiously darting his jittery gaze, somewhat hastily from elf, to human, to elf.

Estel worried that if she was in the tree, they might scare her to the upmost branches, where she would seek to hide. It was not his intent for her to fear them even more. So he called the twins to join him at the base of the tree for the sweet afternoon meal. Elladan landed lightly on his feet, sliding from a lower branch, soon followed by Elrohir.

"Very well Estel, let us enjoy our tea and each other," Elladan ruffled his young brother's hair affectionately. They laid out the meal and Estel took a honeycake and placed it upon a low bough like the day before, and hoped that if she was there she would get the sign meant to invite her. Elrohir looked at him questioningly, slight confusion creasing his brow. "What are you doing? Is this meant for the squirrel?"

"Worry not Elrohir, I know nuts are better for it. But leave the cake where it is." Elrohir shook his head failing to understand, but Elladan and Estel were already dedicating themselves to the pastries, and so he reached for his part, and comfortably lay down, his head pillowed on a moss covered root. As he lay there on his back, face up, something caught his attention and he frowned, reaching for Elladan's shoulder who lay close, propped on his elbows.

"There is something… no… somebody up there," he whispered around a mouthful of cake, "… it is her." The twins looked at each other, and then their identical gazes moved over to Estel.

"You knew…" Elrohir mouthed the words silently, and slightly accusing.

Definitely they would notice her, they were elves after all. It seemed that she also knew hiding any longer would be in vain, because she slowly climbed down towards them.

"Come and join us Lady Mîaddar, for sure you would appreciate cake and tea." Elladan invited her.

"Please… just Mîaddar," she said hesitantly, still descending.

"Then Mîaddar, there is a cake on the bough just up here, can you please collect it on your way down?" Estel said, almost casually.

Mîaddar glanced down from the tree almost teasingly, "I thought you wanted to feed the squirrel, not me."

Estel crafted an appalled mien, "Have you left it to the little beast?!"

"Of course not," she said timidly, "it is not good for it. I had to eat it." She gravely replied.

The statement sounded so genuinely earnest, that it made Estel laugh. He knew not really if she played the game with him in front of his brothers, or if she really was serious. But then shy sparkles of mirth gleamed in her eyes, she chuckled softly, her hand covering her mouth, as if trying to hide the light sound of laughter behind. Estel was surprised, he had not thought it that easy. It was as if she had hoped of something like this to happen, as if she openly seized his efforts to help her approach them.

They stayed until late in the afternoon; the brothers eagerly telling stories of their good times in Imladris and with the rangers in the wild. The sunny day lifting their spirits, and making their tales shine with mirth, and joyful playfulness. And Mîaddar listened...

She was a quiet listener, never interrupting, patiently following, and from time to time, when mirth appeared in her eyes, laughing her soft, slightly raucous laughter she protected behind her hand.

That day a light had awoken in Mîaddar's eyes, at times brushing the sadness aside. She even joined the family for meals sometimes, as she was invited to do whenever she wished.

The brothers discussed, spoke and joked eagerly, as they often did when they were together. Mîaddar listened with interest to their tales of adventures and the thoughts they shared, and participated with a smile or a laugh in between, since the conversations were often not lacking of mirth or a teasing joke ever so often.

They could see how her eyes were begun to shine in their company, and that alone encouraged them in their creativity.

The twins knew deeply what a devastating burden grief could be and how it was painfully heavy on the fëa. And to share the ray of sun their young brother had brought was a joy to them.

They emanated strength and serenity in such a way that she felt they deeply knew both joy and grief, and therefore they could consciously enjoy and value the mirth as a gift.

How long had it been since she had last laughed or even managed a smile that would reach her eyes… It felt so good! So... freeing.

* * *

 _(Estel)_

One night I see my brothers sitting on the bridge. Mîaddar is with them. They dangle their feet watching the sparkling waterfall in the dim silver light of the diminishing moon. I slowly approach and reach, and then I silently sit beside her, also dangling my feet.

They are speaking of _her_.

I hear Elladan's voice come from deep inside his heart where he treasures the memory of his mother. "… She was strong. A shining warrior. Determination glowing in her eyes. But gentle she was also, gentle and graceful,"

Elrohir continues in his brother's trail of thoughts, "I have this image imprinted in my heart and mind of her standing tall, the sun tickling her straight profile. Skin smooth and elegantly pale. Shining, golden hair of flowing silk, wafting in the wind. Strength, grace and gentleness united. Steady and powerful. That is our mother. Ready to ride out and protect our home. And then her eyes, warm and soothing and her arms holding us close enveloping us with deep care and unbound love..."

As they speak they gleam, and their features are bright and beautiful. They are her sons, in all the grace and gentleness, and the strength and the force of determination. The shadow is gone. It lingers on them no longer. There is sweet melancholy, but also the trust that she is now at peace.

Mîaddar sits quietly between us. Her gaze fixed on the rushing water of the fall. I recall her warm, raucous laughter. And I find that I do not resent her any longer. Not at all.

At times the shadow returns upon her. It is her shadow, not ours. She is not free of it. Not yet. And something tells me she still has a very long way to go. - We all do. - But I have my brothers, my father, my fellow rangers… Arwen! We all have each other. But whom does she have…?

* * *

 **Thank you for reading and the new follows. It makes me happy if people read and enjoy, and as every author I would appreciate so much to read your constructive thoughts.**

 **Thank you Ruiniel for always supporting me 3**


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